


Compression

by sardonicista



Category: Bleach
Genre: Crime Drama, M/M, Outlining would have been a good idea, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 121,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicista/pseuds/sardonicista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A pair of elite homicide detectives finds that their partnership is about to evolve…drastically. Fans of crime drama, ballroom dancing, and canon, beware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reposting of the first twenty-nine chapters as posted on ff.net and LiveJournal in early 2012, with new chapters soon to follow at an equally glacial pace, as graciously beta'd by leila-blue and ichibanseiken. All mistakes are mine; the characters, however, are borrowed for nefarious purposes.

_Compression, Chapter One_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

 

“Hell no, man. I can’t bend like that!”

Long fingers raced over the keys, composing a report wholly unrelated to the conversation drawing closer by the second.

“I’m not kidding; if I so much as try, I’ll end up in traction.”

A pause, a snort. Byakuya heard the hiss of the coffee pot as it was placed back on the warmer too hastily, liquid sloshing over the rim.

“Yeah, yeah, but she’s been at it since before she learned to walk.” Red hair peaked through the blinds shielding the office from the common area-cum-break room. “Makes me wonder about you, though. Men’s hips shouldn’t move that way.”

A bright, brassy laugh cut through the bullpen and echoed in the formerly quiet room. Byakuya rolled his eyes. His subordinate’s disregard for his own privacy [and squad policy] made it hard not to eavesdrop, though entertainment value alone explained why his cell phone hadn’t been confiscated yet.

“Whatever. I’ll think about it.” The door started to open. “Six? Probably not. Some of us have real jobs and can’t just duck out… you in leather? Well, that changes everything!”

Renji chuckled and propped the door open with his backside. Phone tucked under his ear, coffee in one hand, and a weighty stack of files in the other.

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath. I’ll call you if I change my mind.” The tall man nudged the door shut with his hip and winced. “See? I can’t even close shit without landing my ass in a sling! Talk to you later,” he half chortled, half growled as the phone slid into his breast pocket.

The older man peeked over his glasses as his typing continued unabated. The redhead straightened, then canted his pelvis away from the door with a grunt.

“Like I said, I’m not built for that shit.”

It was when he noticed the dapper man watching him that he flushed furiously.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Abarai.”

That Byakuya could tease him yet look and sound _no different_ only made it worse. Renji made to slap himself, but stopped short of dousing himself with coffee.

“Mornin,’ Captain.”

Platinum eyes flitted back to the laptop, twinkling in amusement. Grumble deflating into a sigh, the young man marched over to his crowded desk and deposited the files on the pile closest to his own computer. Sniffing his coffee, he relocated his phone into a back pocket, but not before glaring at it. After several moments of eyeing his quiet companion, he sighed again and dropped his head.

“Dancing.”

“Hmm?” The raven-haired man looked up and took in the broad-shouldered figure, currently slouching and attempting to shrink into himself.

“Dancing,” Renji repeated, “Hisagi and some of the girls from the paper have been going out lately, hitting some of the bars uptown and the ballroom on Fifth that was supposed to have closed last year. They dragged me with ‘em once, saying how much fun it was, and I just didn’t get it.”

“Didn’t ‘get’ what?” The senior officer’s tone was cool as always; he may as well have been conducting an interrogation.    

“The whole thing. I can shake my ass as well as the next guy, but the moves and the speed were completely beyond me. Salsa, meringue- it all sounds like food to me, and I couldn’t tell one dance from the next and…nevermind.”

The redhead sunk into his chair, head now tilted back and jamming his ponytail into the headrest.

“This troubles you,” the captain ventured.

Crimson eyes popped open, slowly panning to the source of the statement. Byakuya had removed his reading glasses, wire frames placed besides his carefully folded hands. He peered at Renji intently, and the tattooed man straightened up in surprise.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You are not easily frustrated.”

“No, I guess not.” Renji’s hands landed on his armrests, less comfortable with analysis of his feelings than he would have been with the summary dismissal he expected. “I’m used to picking up things pretty quickly- physical things, at least.”

Byakuya almost smiled, as paperwork loomed large in both of their minds as something that Abarai had most definitely _not_ picked up quickly.

“And thus, your friend’s invitation concerns you.”

“Yeah. Shuuhei says there’s a class before the dancing starts on Thursday, but I think it’ll take more than an hour for me to be willing to try again in public.”

“Surely there are other classes available?”

“I guess, but I’d feel even weirder going by myself.”

Byakuya closed his eyes, a look Renji associated with deep contemplation and therefore inexplicable given their current conversation.

“Most classes welcome individuals, though couples may still attend.”

“Really? Hmm.”

“Some find it a useful way to meet other people.”

It took a minute for Renji to understand the implication of that statement; a light blush dusted his cheekbones again.

“Ah, I’m not really…looking…I mean… not like…” the younger man trailed off.

“I did not mean to imply you were.” Byakuya paused, weighing his words carefully. “I simply wanted to suggest a way you might hone your skills in a more comfortable setting.”

“Oh! Sorry, Kuchiki-keibu, I didn’t mean it like that. I…I appreciate the thought, though.”    

Silence blanketed the office as the two men sat, lost in their own thoughts. The wall clock ticked solemnly as Renji turned back to the slighter man.

“You said there were other classes in town? Any near the station?”

“There is a reputable studio six blocks East, by the pizzeria with the large neon sign,” Byakuya began as Renji nodded. “The proprietor charges no fee for the first session.”

“Really?”

Renji turned on his monitor, opening the browser and typing in the address.

“Sougyo no Kotowari?”

“Mm-hmm,” Byakuya reclaimed his spectacles as he reviewed his report. Adding a summary line for the sake of completeness, he saved the document before printing it. Standing and turning towards the newly generated page, he noticed the younger man now watching him, chin in hand.

“So…” Renji drawled, a lazy grin creeping over his face.

Byakuya rolled his eyes, knowing _that_ look well. “You wish to leave early today?”

“Nah.” The lopsided grin widened as Byakuya failed to mask his surprise. “There’s a class tonight, but it’s not ‘til seven.”

“Oh.” The slender man sat down, smoothly swiveling his chair towards the redhead and awaiting whatever bizarre request was sure to follow.

“Wanna come with me?”

Byakuya deposited the paper in his outbox before letting his fingertips rest on the blotter before him. Did Renji know that he practically _purred_ at him? Did he do that on purpose? The elder kept his expression blank as his mind regrouped, silence stretching out to an uncomfortable degree.

“Very well, but on one condition.”

Renji’s victorious whoop was cut short.

“You must finish your reports on the cases closed last week,” Byakuya nodded at the stack on the other’s well-obscured desk.

“I’m on it, boss,” the redhead grinned wolfishly, tossing the top folder open with panache.

Turning back to his laptop, Byakuya observed the other’s reflection in the glass of his desk. Renji stuck a pen behind his ear and bit his lips as he scanned the page, a look of pure concentration on his face.

_We may find your desktop before long, Abarai._

Contented, the detective went back to his work.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Earlier assertions aside, Abarai Renji was dancing in the break room.

Bopping happily and completely unaware of himself, he filled his Styrofoam cup while his incisors sank slightly into the fritter he had so jubilantly shoved into his mouth moments earlier.

“Dude, you win the lottery or somethin’?”

The redhead jumped, sending weak coffee arcing to his left while the pastry shifted perilously close to his airway. He coughed, sputtered, and turned a brighter crimson than his hair.

His inquisitor laughed, loudly; the man looked like a puppy caught in the midst of shoe destruction.

“Damn, strawberry, way to give a guy a heart attack,” Renji choked.

“Nah, anybody with eyes woulda already stroked from watchin’ you. Since when’re you so cheery at work?”

_Since I achieved the impossible, wiseass. I will see Inspector Kuchiki dance, and the world will come to an end._

“Seriously, dude, are you high? You’re creepin’ me out…” Ichigo mused, taking a step back with dramatic flourish.

“Shut it. A man can enjoy his work.” _And the thought of seeing the ice prince melt…or at least thaw a bit…_

The detective finally shook himself out of that train of thought, assessing the damage to the apple fritter in his grasp.

“Right-o, you getting excited about deskwork. You’re up to something.”

Ichigo scratched at his hair before settling back against the counter, squinting at his friend.

“Yeah, whatever; you only strike that pose when you’re fishing. Whatcha doin’?”

The younger man sighed. “Trolling. Things’ve been slow this week.”

“Don’t I know it- that’s why I’m trying to catch up while the lull in cases lasts.” Renji nibbled at the corner of the confection experimentally. “S.W.A.T.’s probably up to something.”

“Oh, _hell_ no.” Ichigo paled slightly and straightened, looking around anxiously. “I’d go cover traffic court before crossing paths with Scarface again.”

“Scarface?” Renji’s eyes widened as a chuckled around a mouthful of donut. “Ooh, Zaraki’ll like that. I’ll tell him next time I-“

“Don’t you dare, pineapple head.”

The two scowled at each other for a long moment before dissolving into laughter.

“Still, I’d love to see his face. First-rate reporters aren’t afraid to take risks, you know,” Renji winked.

“Yeah yeah. I’ll run that by the nutcase the same day you bare your soul to the _ice princess_.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo fingered his lanyard idly while the redhead chomped at his donut in silence.

“Damn, Renji.”

He swallowed, channeling the sudden urge to growl into slurping down the still-steaming coffee.

“You’ve got it bad, man.” Sympathy shone in the youth’s warm brown eyes as he shook his head, then nodded in the direction of the closed office door. “Making any progress?”

“Some; now he only turns into an ogre when you’re around. Thanks for that,” the assistant inspector managed with a frown.

“I do what I can. Someday I’ll irritate him enough that he cracks and reveals his alien nature, and then you’ll really thank me,” Ichigo deadpanned.

“As long as you bear the brunt of the death ray, I don’t care.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m taking Rukia out tonight, so you might wanna slip him some tranquilizers or somethin’.”

“You really are nuts,” Renji chuckled gruffly. _I’ll do my best to distract him anyway, though, with pleasure._

Seeing his friend frozen mid-chew, Ichigo waved a hand before his face.

“Hey, you’re doing it again,” the tow-head smirked, poking him in the forehead. “You really are up to something.”

“None of your business, berry,” Renji mumbled around the last of the pastry. “I gotta get back to it.”

“That’s right, slacker. Hey,” Ichigo began stalking off, “you comin’ out to the ballroom this week?”

“Oh, for the love of all things...” the pineapple groaned, “not you, too?!”

“Not my idea, man.  The midget wouldn’t let me be until I agreed to it.”

“They’re all out to get us,” Renji commiserated, blithely lumping Hisagi Shuuhei in with the seething mass of femininity plaguing him that day.

“Don’t I know it. See ya,” the berry disappeared down the hall, one hand raised in a wave.

Topping off his coffee, the redhead crept back in to the office he shared with his superior officer, closing the door as silently as possible.

“What news from Kurosaki?”

_Damn._

“Nada; slow news week, from the sound of it.”

“Indeed.” Kuchiki continued to type, posture perfect and eyes glued to his screen. If Renji squinted a bit, he could superimpose the razor-straight form onto the shadowy memory of his high-school typing teacher.  Minus the heels and low-cut blouse, though. The lieutenant remembered well-tailored skirts and mentally kicked himself.

_There’s nothing remotely feminine about him...except the school-marm-ish way he peeks over the top of his glasses as he types. And maybe the flowing, sweet smelling hair. Oh, hell._

“Abarai, are you in a food coma?”

“Eh?” Renji fought the emerging laugh that threatened as the formal man tried out a new colloquialism.

“Your stupor; I presume it is doughnut related?”

“Oh, no,” the younger man lied, “gave ‘em up. Not in the mood for junk food anymore.”

“I see.” Platinum eyes did not lift from the laptop. “In that case, straighten your tie and get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Renji mumbled, stalking over to the tiny square mirror by his desk.

His tie was unscathed, but his face was not; a large crumb with frosting clung to his chin. Quickly removing [and eating] the evidence, he met the inspector’s eyes in the glass.

“Dammit,” Renji grunted, whirling away and flopping in his chair. “Why d’ya ask if ya already know?”

Byakuya looked at him, amusement shining in his eyes.   

“Because your expressions are priceless,” the elder drawled.

“Glad you’re enjoying this.” Renji, lacking a better response, stuck out his tongue and turned back to his keyboard, typing his password in as irritably as possible.

“Is that _boy_ still taking Rukia out tonight?”

“Um.” The carrot-top’s fingers slowed.

“I take that as a ‘yes,’ then.”

“Uh, yeah.” _Why I try to keep anything from him, I will never know._

“You need not worry,” Byakuya went on in his usual monotone. “I have given him permission.”

“Oh.” _Maybe you_ are _an alien replacement. That would explain why you’re willing to go out with me. Well, not really_ with _me…oh, for fuck’s sake. Take out your death ray and kill me now._

“Didn’t see that coming,” Renji eventually replied when his brain recovered.

“I suppose not,” the captain said evenly, not looking up. “Though Rukia is more exacting than I.”

_Don’t know about that…though she is more prone to violence._ Renji’s mind retreated to a happy place where Rukia was chasing Ichigo around with a shoe, a vignette from their first date’s aftermath. It then flowed effortlessly to Byakuya threatening him with a ruler. Things then deteriorated, and school-marm Kuchiki was beckoning to him, having handed over the ruler. _Spanking, perhaps?_

“Oh God,” Renji groaned, covering his face quickly with his hands and nearly head-butting his computer monitor.

“As I said, your expressions are priceless.”

Renji couldn’t help but grin at the near-smirk on his superior’s face. He didn’t mind playing the clown for Byakuya; the man’s freezing contempt had waned over time, and the assistant-inspector came to take pride at eliciting emotions from the rigorously stoic detective. Kuchiki, for his part, seemed to appreciate his efforts, now only half-heartedly scolding what he once would have punished.

“I’m glad my talents are finally being appreciated.”

“That they are,” Byakuya said with a sigh, once again getting lost in his work.

Renji’s lopsided grin widened.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji takes his captain out dancing - sort of - and, naturally, things do not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by leila-blue and originally posted in February 2012.

_Compression, Chapter Two_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

A horde of flurries descended on the city.

Like many landing parties, Renji mused, the snow was turned back at every point; a few held out on long-parked cars and lampposts, though many melted into oblivion at the first touch of pavement. Despite the spots left on his sunglasses, he enjoyed the fluffy bits taking on the sepia of the gaslights and layering the town in a blanket of unusual gentility.

He cast a glance to the man beside him as they finally left headquarters and delved into the depths of the downtown streets. Byakuya was cut from a harsher cloth than the rest of the scene, absolute in a world of snow-blurred boundaries. Black hair, white skin, black wool coat, white silk scarf, and steel eyes fixed in the distance: a colder figure than the gargoyles spying on them from above.

Renji quickly scanned himself, red trailing into a Mardi Gras-menagerie of gold, fuchsia and emerald. He felt like a newspaper circular discarded and blown up against a statue in a gale, attempting to bleed color and life into his unlikely companion.

They halted at a curb, dark cars skimming past on damp pavement. Renji sought out the steel orbs again, surprised at the wistful gaze directed back at him.

The light turned, and Byakuya turned away, the moment over before the younger man could really register it.

Passing brightly-lit boutiques, Renji noticed the flurries caught in the other’s hair, tiny diamonds shimmering out of the sable tresses as if there on purpose. He smiled. _Of course- even nature bends to your will. No way you’ll get frizzy when we go inside._

One broad hand swept over his ponytail, settling his speckled goggles back atop his head and resigning himself to heightened spikiness later. As he imagined his new and improved pineapple, an unusually large flake landed on the tip of his nose.  Stretching his tongue out, his eyes crossed as he tried to lap up the flurry but to no avail; it melted under his breath, and he was left licking his upper lip as the remnants coursed down his face.

His companion stopped, one elegant eyebrow arched.

Renji laughed awkwardly with a slurp. “Sorry. Snow makes me kinda giddy.”

“I see that.”

It might have been a twinkle, or merely headlights reflecting obliquely in the man’s dark eyes. Unsettled, Renji wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, suddenly stepping back as he realized why Byakuya had remained motionless. The young man took in the front of the studio; a whimsical sign adorned with dancing figures shone out over the dark street, lights merrily chasing each other along the margin of the old-fashioned marquee. Claret eyes skimmed the polished wooden floors and the couple dozen of novices milling about through the full-length windows before blinking and turning back to his superior.

“Oh. We’re here?”

Byakuya nodded, reaching out to open the door.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” Renji grinned, stepping over the threshold.

“I’ll overlook it, as it’s after hours,” Byakuya finished dryly.

Keen crimson eyes scoped out the studio. A few couples stood to the side, and a gaggle of coeds surrounded a tall man with long white hair and surprisingly warm brown eyes. The man pushed up his shirtsleeves and turned to greet them- and paused.

Renji didn’t notice Byakuya doing the same. 

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Ukitake Juushirou was ecstatic. The class was _huge._

Never mind that most of the participants wouldn’t stay long enough to pay- he did this for love, not money, after all- but it was exciting to see such a wide range of ages. He could cope with the horrible gender mismatch; it wouldn’t be the first time, and he firmly believed that one should learn to lead and to follow, both for the sake of mastery and of fun.

That said, he was relieved to see two men walk in as the class was about to start.

The first looked familiar. Then again, a broadly grinning redhead with ample tattoos was not easily forgotten, even though Ukitake found himself struggling to place the lad in context. He was summoning his customary greeting and sunny smile when he saw the slighter figure emerge from the snow.

His breath caught. He’d seen a ghost.

But as the sleek monochromatic man returned his stare, he stood corrected.

_Bya-kun. I’ll be damned._

Kuchiki also hesitated but recovered first, taking his companion’s leather coat and hanging it on the rack before removing his own. It served to distract the redhead and give the owner a chance to come to his senses. The oddly deferential move surprised Ukitake and the young man, who gave Byakuya a warm smile before turning back to the crowd.

_Interesting._

“Ah, hello there! Is it…Abarai-kun?” Juushirou unleashed his own disarmingly wide grin.

“Yeah!” Renji shook his hand. “Ukitake-sensei, am I right?”

_Ah, that’s right._ “Indeed, though my teaching venue has changed a bit since the Police Academy.” The white-haired man waved his hand airily, gesturing to the studio. “I think you’ll find this a bit less boring, eh?”

Renji reddened slightly, having never met a class he couldn’t sleep through.

“Naw, you were awesome. I could probably use a refresher course,” Abarai continued, scratching his neck and looking away before nearly jumping to attention. “Oh crap, I forgot. Ukitake-sensei, you remember Captain Kuchiki?”

“Indeed.”

Juushirou succeeded in keeping his mouth shut, swallowing the overly-familiar comments that would have chased Byakuya away, probably for good. _You still look appallingly young, Bya-kun_ , he mused, though the raven-haired man seemed smaller and colder than he remembered.

“Ukitake-sempai,” Byakuya bowed slightly, eliciting a nervous laugh from his subordinate and more twitters from the girls behind him.

“Formal as ever,” Ukitake winked and grasped the slender hand proffered before it could be withdrawn. “Come now, it’s about time to start.”

 The instructor turned away, exhaling softly. The space between the two detectives seemed charged, and he fancied his hair rising with static from the proximity. The thought was ridiculous and optimistic enough to make Ukitake smile broadly to himself.

_Very interesting._

He leapt up onto the rostrum, gathering his enthusiasm for a well-trodden speech.

“I’m Ukitake Juushirou; welcome to my humble studio! We’ve a big group tonight, so I’ll keep this speech short.”

A few girls giggled, twitching and nudging each other. The middle-aged couple and the brawny redhead kept their eyes fixed on him, while Byakuya quickly scanned the room before focusing over his right shoulder.

“For those of you hoping for mastery tonight, I have bad news; we’ll be doing basics first, including posture, positions, and so on that will form the foundation for our time together over the next eight weeks.”

“But, despair not! The effort now will be well worth your while, and you’ll be amazing yourself in no time.”

As he went on, he noticed the fidgeters, who would not be attending in a week or two, interest waning with the lack of instant gratification. These amounted to a third of the assembly, a more favorable portion than usual. He grinned again as crimson eyes remained riveted on him.

“So, please relax and have fun, and don’t hesitate to ask questions. You’ll find a whole new world opening up to you.”

With that, storm-cloud eyes finally met his.

“All right, enough of my babbling. Grab a friend, or a complete stranger, and form a circle.”

The redhead looked surreptitiously to his superior, who in turn looked over Ukitake’s shoulder again. Both men then blinked and stiffened as a troop of young women approached them.

Juushirou smiled again; the bold ones would do well, learning to lead without a hint of discomfiture. _Psychology is useful in every avenue of life, indeed._ Renji stepped forward, saying something that made Byakuya nearly smile as they were tugged in opposite directions.

A ragged oval formed, the policemen positioned across the room from another. Conversations rippled in arcs around the group, the predominantly feminine alto drowning out other voices. Friends and acquaintances either partnered or ended up side-by-side, Ukitake had noted in his decades of marshaling this ritual. Eyeing his former students, he acknowledged the holes in his model as he stepped to the center of the circle. 

If nothing else, he had a new theory to test.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Renji flopped into a chair, opening another button of his shirt.

Grad Student Number One [her name was Kiyone, he was fairly certain] had temporarily relinquished him in favor of chatting up the instructor, while Grad Student Number Two [Isane, possibly?], her alarmingly tall older sister, attempted to pry her away. Number Three, a severe young woman who was definitely Nanao [and oddly familiar], stood to the side of the sisters, fuming as she answered another call on her frequently ringing mobile.

He wiped his brow with his sleeve, sweating more from the many bodies in the room than the perceived exertion. Leaning back, Renji let his head loll as his eyes closed.

“Are we keeping you up, Abarai-kun?”

Brown eyes crinkled at him as he blinked.

“Nope. I see you escaped from your fan club?” Renji smiled gleefully.

“Only temporarily.” Juushirou extended a bottle of water, which the young man accepted.

“Thanks. Been doing this long?”

“Since the Earth cooled, I believe,” Ukitake coughed into his elbow, “and probably since before you were born.”

“Still kicking my butt,” Renji snorted, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Despair not; enthusiasm is the only prerequisite,” Ukitake closed his eyes with a self-deprecating smirk.

“Aye, sensei. This is a nice class.”

“Really? I’m glad you think so.” The elder man’s long frame collapsed gently into a chair, scooping his hair over the backrest.

“No surprise there, though. You came highly recommended.”

Ukitake followed the burgundy eyes into the crowd, catching a glimpse of midnight locks before they disappeared.

“Me? I’m flattered.” The man seemed genuinely surprised.

“Anyways, I’m thinkin’ I might actually be able to do this.”

“I’m glad to hear that, and I do hope you’ll finish out this first course; it isn’t every day that young men attend the class.”

“I can see that,” Renji mused, searching for his inspector in the sea of women.

_My Inspector?_ He tucked that thought away, still wary of Ukitake’s truth serum-like manner. It was Renji’s way of rationalizing why he ended up treating the instructor’s office as a confessional in his Academy days, and he vaguely wondered if his water had been tampered with.

“Anyhoo…am I doin’…well, okay?”

The teacher smiled without hesitation. “Yes, just as you should be. You were worried?”

Renji made a non-committal grunt. “Nah, hate feeling clumsy, that’s all.”

“Well, that will resolve as your uncertainty does. It’s really no different than an infant learning to walk; with enough repetition comes poise and grace.” Ukitake paused, smile broadening. “It also helps to not overthink things.”

“Damn straight.” The redhead snorted, surveying the room again.

“On that note, I think our five minutes are up. Shall we?”

Renji wondered, for a moment, how the man kept track of time- there wasn’t a clock in sight.

What was in sight, and barreling towards them, was Kotetsu Kiyone, and suddenly Abarai understood.

_Poor bastard._ Ukitake managed a sheepish wave as he was tugged back to the center of the dance floor.

Stretching, Renji slowly stalked back from the periphery as he finally located his superior. The Kuchiki was surrounded by vivid shades of blue, green, and purple, with one contrasting note of natural-appearing honey mixed in. _You can’t predict these things,_ he smirked, _though I guess he’s pale enough to appeal to that kinda crowd._

Soon reclaimed by the Grad Student Trio, crimson eyes tracked his fellow officer as the lesson resumed, a bit chagrined at having wasted prime gawking opportunity in his efforts to actually absorb the instruction. With new resolve, he shifted into stakeout mode, determined to multitask more effectively during the second half hour.

One and a quarter songs later, Renji decided that Green Haired Girl Number One had talent.

Though her back was nearly obscured with her wavy hair, she seemed to move between positions easily, taking smooth steps as opposed to most of the other nameless figures he watched. Byakuya was lucky- this one seemed to practically lead herself.

He was distracted for the latter half of the piece, as the ‘over-and-slide’ wasn’t as simple as he thought it should be with a partner as tall as himself, not that it was Number Two’s [Isane?] fault. By the time Renji resumed his observation, he noticed that Green Haired Girl Number Two was skilled as well.

For some reason, though, Greenie #1 [he had a tendency to abbreviate] now seemed to be struggling a bit, and it got worse as the song droned on. She didn’t seem to upset, though; she giggled, leaned over to see what Greenie #2 was doing, and recovered somewhat, though the giggling and invasion of space continued.

_Weird. Must be a Greenie thing._

Soon, Ise-chan, who would not take kindly to being Grad Student Number Three, was demanding his full attention and better posture, chillingly reminding him of a humorless Rukia _._ As if sensing his thoughts, Nanao realigned his arm before lifting his chin with a fingertip.

“Come on, Abarai-san, stand up proudly! Which one of us is leading this dance?!” She whispered sharply.

_You are, I think_ , he wisely kept to himself. Over her perfectly positioned shoulder, he caught sight of Greenie #2 laughing and squirming with Greenie #1, both fumbling as awkwardly as himself. _Maybe I’m losing my touch, but they seemed…_

Renji’s attention wandered rightward to Purple-san, who swept into a turn with effortless grace.

And then it clicked.

Purple-san _was swept_ into the turn with effortless grace by Kuchiki-sama, the common thread.

Renji really ought to have known.

Byakuya, face as unreadable as ever, guided his partner with fluid economy, not a single understated motion wasted. Each equally novice girl appeared flawless in his arms, but only while there, because he knew _exactly_ what he was doing: disguising his skill as their own.

_Of course he knows what he’s doing…he’s always ahead of me, no matter what._

Crimson orbs sought Ukitake in confirmation. The sensei guided Honey-san, navigating around her generous bosom and lending his poise to her steps, negating her recently displayed clumsiness.

_Damn it._

Renji felt his face darken as a heavy burning sensation lodged in his chest, a feeling too familiar from his early days with the Kuchiki, but now back with full force: humiliation, disappointment, and something deeper, as yet unnamed, but just as painful as the rest.

He heard a gasp. Ise-chan quickly averted her face, chastened by the harsh look she believed intended for her. Before he could apologize, he locked gazes with his fellow officer.

Byakuya looked surprised, maybe even guilty. The redhead was almost amused by the unusual sight.

Almost.

The song finished a minute later, and Renji turned away immediately as his face heated further.

He’d seen enough.

The leather jacket and its satin lining were cool from their position near the windows, and he was grateful as the blood rushed to flush the skin of his neck. With a passing glance, Renji saw two more faces fall, one warm smile falter, and two ash-gray eyes widen before his hand reached the door.

_Fuck this shit._

Before a word could reach him, he was gone.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya has a word with his sempai, and Renji has words with his temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by leila-blue, and first posted online February 2012.

_Compression, Chapter Three_

* * *

  **:*:*:**

* * *

 

Walking up to the coffee can, Byakuya prepared to press folded bills into the slot.

“First class is free.”

A hand landed gently on his wrist. He ignored it, pushing the money through the opening in the lid.

“Consider it a donation then, Sempai.”

“Is this about charity, then?”

Chocolate eyes snared him as the hand was withdrawn.

“Absolutely not,” Byakuya snapped. He fastened the last button on his coat and turned to the exit.

“What, then?” Ukitake’s tone softened as his gaze did, watching the other come to a stop.

“I do not know,” the younger said softly, dark hair shifting to hide his face. Byakuya stood motionless for a moment more before shrugging off the slump threatening his shoulders. “It does not matter.”

Juushirou frowned as the monotone regained control of the detective’s voice.

“No good comes of broken promises.”

“Then, perhaps, some promises ought not to be made.” Ukitake reached out again, planting a firm grip on the slighter man’s shoulder.  _You must stop this._

Byakuya stiffened but did not move away.

“Stay for a drink.” It was an order, not a request. The white-haired man knew it would rankle, and judged it a necessary risk; few could adopt such a tone with his former pupil, and Juushirou meant to make the most of what limited influence he had.

As the other remained as still as a statue in the otherwise empty hall, Ukitake moved first and steered him towards the back, hand nudging him firmly into an overstuffed couch.

There Byakuya remained, coat fully buttoned and hands on his knees, only looking up when a glass appeared under his nose. He raised an eyebrow.

“You still have this?”

“It was a gift, if I’m not mistaken,” Juushirou feigned indignation as he pulled up a chair, depositing the bottle of bourbon on the floor.

“Yes, a studio-warming gift.” Byakuya eyed the whiskey curiously. “Should I be offended that you’ve barely touched it until now?”

“You should be grateful that it gets better with age, and that Shunsui hasn’t commandeered it.”

“You managed to keep liquor hidden from him?” The inspector seemed genuinely impressed.

“In the broom closet, of course.”

 Byakuya cleared his throat, the closest he would come to a chuckle.

 “Is Abarai-kun your Lieutenant?” Juushirou wondered.

The raven-head nodded, sipping his drink. Color found its way onto his face, a small intrusion of lips and high cheekbones. Ukitake wondered if the alcohol or the question was the culprit.

“He requested that I accompany him,” Byakuya volunteered, watching the tawny liquid swirl through the ice, “for reasons passing understanding.”

“Oh?” Juushirou accepted the glare with a laugh.

“And I take it,” Ukitake continued, “that you accepted the invitation and recommended my services without volunteering anything else, also for reasons passing understanding?”

The younger man pursed his lips, eyes still trained on his drink.

“I’m not trying to scold you, Bya-kun.” _Well, not too much._ “I am simply trying to help.”

“That was my reason as well,” Kuchiki murmured. “Or so I told myself. I am a fool.”

“No, you’re a human being. You seem to forget the difference.”

Taking another diminutive sip, the detective let his gaze rest on the wall of weathered mirrors behind Ukitake, slipping over the reflected, if slightly warped, surface of the dance floor.

“You seem to be doing well,” Byakuya mused quietly.

“And you look lost.” Juushirou took note of the other’s shock, but continued. “It’s the last thing they would have wanted for you.”

Allowing a rare slump, Byakuya leaned into the velour cushion as he knitted his brow. His mentor sighed, chest aching at the sight. _How many years has it been now, and you have yet to deal with this?_

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the gentle tinkle of ice and glass mixing with muffled noise from the street. 

“I think,” Ukitake began, clearing his throat, “that young Abarai’s reasons may be identical to yours. Perhaps he, too, wishes to help?”

“Whatever his intention, _I_ ought to have known better. I should not have come.” The young captain closed his eyes.

“The problem is not your presence, Byakuya; it is your unwillingness to be open with those you care for. It’s easy enough to walk away from this place, but the past hurts this studio represents will stay with you until you face them.” Juushirou paused, considering his words carefully. “You must esteem Abarai-kun very highly to have returned here willingly after all this time, despite having sworn not to darken the door again. It’s a rare thing to trust someone enough to let yourself be vulnerable before them, isn’t it?”

An unreadable expression crossed the inspector’s face before he quickly suppressed it. Taking a deep breath, he stood.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Ukitake-sempai. I will take my leave now.”

By the time the retired captain stood and set down his glass, Byakuya disappeared into the mix of rain, snow and fog, door closing gently behind him.

Juushirou picked up the other glass, witnessing the remaining shards of ice melt into the amber liquor, and sighed.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

Renji rolled his shoulders, chin pointing left, then to the right.

One advantage of emotionally-fueled sleeplessness was hitting the gym early; he could use the treadmill and lift weights without having to wait on others to vacate equipment. He even had time to stretch properly- not that he ever did- and linger long enough in the shower for the water to be properly heated.

The train was also less crowded before dawn, and he sprawled over two seats, straddling his knapsack and letting his feet protrude into the aisle. Ear buds in, eyes closed, face pressed against the cool glass of the window, he settled into the sway of the commuter line for a few moments of peace.

Peace, unfortunately, did not come.

Cinnamon eyes cracked open, watching the fingers drumming on his knee. _And one and two and three and…oh hell._ His other hand reached up and pressed harshly on the music player’s smooth screen; he grumbled and let his eyes slide closed again.

Another minute passed, and he furrowed his tattooed brows while he reached for the iPod again. The cadence soon spread to both hands, and with a grunt he turned the music off completely.

The cabin tilted gently to the left, hand rails swinging with a creak and a balled-up section of newspaper rolled beneath his seat. He felt eyes settle on him, and opened his own to return the stare; the elderly lady near the front of the section quickly turned back to her book.

Point made, Renji made a determined effort to snooze, turning up his collar and leaving the ear buds in place to dissuade any potential conversation. The train swayed again, clacking over the tracks in time to the tapping of his fingers and the tune he was humming to himself.

He grimaced again, but decided not to fight it any longer. He _could not_ get the song out of his head. No matter what other music he used to smother it, the upbeat meringue kept breaking through, filling his mind and making his limbs twitch in time. He couldn’t get the look out of his head, either; Renji had never seen slate gray eyes filled with unbridled regret before, and now he could see nothing else when he closed his own.

_Way to go, Abarai. You are going to be in deep shit._

He’d regretted his hasty exit mere moments after making it. Hardly half-way down the street, Renji’s footfalls had slowed, and he turned to look at the trail he’d left in the thin layer of wet snow. Staring at his own footprint, he felt just enough residual humiliation to turn and keep walking into the bitingly cold night air, burning his face into an even brighter red.

Much like the damned wasabi Byakuya was so fond of, Renji’s temper had a tendency to flare powerfully and wipe his mind of any other notion before itself dwindling to nothing. He was glad for that- he didn’t relish holding grudges or clinging to negative emotions- but it often meant that the rage faded long before the consequences of whatever stupid thing he’d done came to pass.

Now, as his body cheerfully relived the exuberance of the previous night’s dancing, he was left to imagine what the day at work would hold for him. He’d made an ass out of himself, _again_ ; first by assuming that Kuchiki was as inexperienced as he was, later by suspecting his motives for accompanying him to the lesson. In retrospect he realized that Byakuya hadn’t misled him; in fact, the solemn man had dropped several hints that his libidinous brain had overlooked in favor of indulging in outlandish fantasies.

_Any detective worth his salt woulda noticed…just not shit-for-brains Abarai; I was too busy daydreaming to listen to what he said. And then I storm out like a toddler throwing a fucking tantrum. Shit!_

For the first time, Renji found himself hoping that Kuchiki-keibu would simply be angry; he was used to that, even if it still scared the hell out of him.

What bothered him more was Byakuya’s expression.

In all the years he’d known his Captain, he’d seen emotion writ plainly on the man’s face only once before. If the circumstances of last night’s lesson were enough to provoke a response even vaguely reminiscent of _that_ day, then he would need to do more than simply apologize for storming out.

_Everything in the room was white, with the exception of three things; midnight hair, cool coal eyes, and a slowly expanding stain of dusky, dark blood that seeped through the bandages on his chest. More than ever, he looked like a creature of marble, chest barely rising with breath and translucent skin melding with the starched sheets that anchored him to the bed.  Byakuya’s beatific visage betrayed no trace of the vicious attack that had wounded his body. At least, it didn’t until he looked at Renji._

_Pain and regret flashed for an instant before the Kuchiki steel shutters were drawn again. Byakuya looked away and the redhead’s heart shattered._

_In that moment, Abarai Renji renewed his vow to someday reach his Captain. To simply surpass him would not be enough, he now realized; he longed to stand beside him as an equal, to pry beneath his mask, to discover the man hidden there without destroying him in the process. Perhaps now that Byakuya had openly acknowledged him, had finally revealed evidence of the flesh and blood man underneath the lofty veneer, he could admit to himself that he no longer desired to bring the Kuchiki down…just closer._

_“Captain, I-“_

Claret eyes popped open as the train slowed, wishing they could remain shut.

He was so very, very tired, and it had nothing to do with sleep.

Renji spent every waking hour bettering himself, trying to reach the pinnacle where the inspector stood, trying to earn room to just breathe, just _be_. Every time he got within arm’s reach the space would shift and he would be further back than where he started, like running up a down-escalator that was accelerating.

_Would I even know what to do if I reached him? I mean, really…what could a fuck-up like me actually do for someone like him?_

_Nothing._

_I’m a fucking thorn in his side and I know it, and I can’t let it go. I can’t let_ him _go._

_Any sane person would just give up_ , he thought, stepping on to the platform and sniffing the stale air within. _Any normal person would get tired of trying and failing to reach such impossible standards.  Any healthy person wouldn’t maintain a relationship all by themselves, always wondering what the other couldn’t or wouldn’t express, having to do the talking for both parties._

Looking up at the clock, Renji saw that he was _very_ early and sighed.

_Clearly, I ain’t sane, normal, or healthy. I’m fucked._

He trudged up the stairs, avoiding shallow pools of water between the salt crystals and surrendering snowflakes on the cement. The air grew colder, crisper, finally shedding the dank odor of the underground walkway; the redhead looked up at the dense, low-hanging clouds shielding the near dawn sky, then came back to earth.

Renji had known what he was getting himself into; one had only to look at his former S.W.A.T. teammate Madarame to see what happened when you pooled your ambitions in to one person. In Ikkaku’s case, however, his idol settled things quickly and decisively-if violently- and lived in the moment. The tattooed lieutenant was also quite sure that Zaraki Kenpachi never wore an expression like his own superior did the night before.

_I may be fucked, but I ain’t a martyr…and he ain’t the indifferent bastard he pretends to be._

Blinking the image away, Renji discovered himself in front of the station well ahead of schedule. Swallowing another heavy sigh, he squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji is left to his own devices for a bit too long, and Byakuya's stubborn solitude is brought to an abrupt halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by leila-blue, first posted online February 2012.

_Compression, Chapter Four_

 

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

There were times, Renji thought, that the text message alert sounded like doom.

He retrieved the phone, eyes flicking to it briefly as he saved the file on his desktop.

_Rukia. Definitely doom._

_RUKIA: “Did something happen?”_

The redhead closed his eyes, swiping the lids with his thumb as he released a deep breath. Biting back his initial snarky retort, he tapped the keys with a surprising degree of control.

_RENJI:_ “ _Why do you ask?”_

Whatever guilt he felt for his evasiveness was easily quashed- he didn’t need both Kuchiki siblings angry with him at once.

_RUKIA:_ _“I haven’t seen Nii-sama since Friday.”_

_Oh._

A number of disturbing thoughts swirled through his head, but Renji suppressed them enough to focus on the matter at hand. The fact that Rukia was texting (as opposed to simply calling and squawking at him directly) indicated concern rather than rage…and concern he could work with.

_RUKIA: “He cancelled our lunch meeting.”_

_RENJI: “I haven’t seen him yet today.”_

Technically, this was true, though Renji supposed it was due to a marathon session of administrative meetings. The captain would never resort to something as infantile as _hiding_ from his subordinate, after all. Would he?

_RUKIA: “Where did you last see him?”_

He sighed. The tiny woman wasn’t in law enforcement, but she would pursue the lead as doggedly as any sworn officer. Renji decided not to draw things out further.

_RENJI: “Dance lesson last night.”_

The display eventually went dark, and the redhead turned back to the full-sized keyboard where his work awaited him. Almost five minutes later, Renji was just focused enough that when his phone chimed again he nearly jumped out of his chair.

_RUKIA: “Which studio?”_

An inked eyebrow rose.

_RENJI: “The one on E 13 th. ‘Sougyo’ something.”_

Another lull rose in their texted conversation. The lieutenant settled for spell-checking his report as he was unable to concentrate long enough to compose any further sentences.

_RUKIA: “Lunch 12:15 Campus Café.”_

“I can hardly fucking wait,” Renji announced to the empty office, “even if you are buying.”

The next sigh deteriorated into a growl as he pushed away from his desk to glare at the unoccupied workstation across the room.

“Dammit, I hate being moody, and I hate talking to myself!” Renji grumbled, crumpling up and throwing scrap paper at the empty chair.  The ball ricocheted off the back rest and settled nicely into the seat, a perfect shot no one else would witness.

The redhead stared at the paper ball, willing his own death ray to come online. It didn’t, and the paper remained unincinerated where his captain should have been sitting. Renji realized that he missed the sight of him, missed the silky sarcasm offered while Byakuya worked circles around him without breaking a sweat.

Standing slowly, the young man stalked over to the inspector’s desk and stared at the one point of chaos he had introduced to the system before retrieving it and dropping it into the waste bin.

“I hate it when you withdraw. I can’t apologize if you’re not around to hear it.”

_She turned, gaunt form rendered spiderlike by the daylight pouring in through the windows behind her._

He swallowed against the sour splash of stomach acid that threatened to fill his mouth as the memory intruded on his monologue. Renji closed his eyes, resisting a shiver as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. For a moment he held the image of his captain clearly in his mind, sitting perfectly straight and still, but the figure shifted into an absent, languid slump in its chair.

_Renji walked at a carefully measured pace to the table. He’d learned that it wasn’t wise to run there; sudden or fast movements were likely to agitate, but a subdued stroll could help him blend in with the subdued surroundings. He eased in to the chair, avoiding the crack in the pleather cushion as he let his bare legs dangle freely before looking up._

_A fine haze of sun surrounded her head, a stubble halo set atop an uneven surface marred by scars and a faded, greening tattoo. He couldn’t remember what color her hair had been; her eyebrows were also absent, even their penciled replacements long since abandoned._

_Renji blinked then squinted at the backlit face. The eyes were also difficult to pin down- he was sure the dull brown wasn’t her true shade, even though the mousy color matched the theme of the room. Out in the fresh air, in unfiltered sunlight, the boy was confident they would have shone with brilliant green, or perhaps a deliciously warm amber like his own. People were like plants in that respect; they flourished in their natural habitat but wilted when shuttered away, set back in a dark, forgotten corner of a dusty room._

_When he first visited, the redhead wondered why the people in charge were being so silly. His own plants, a tiny cactus and a thrice-repotted Lily of the Valley, were much happier on his narrow windowsill, even if watered erratically and knocked over on occasion. Renji had asked the orderly why they didn’t let the plant-people out onto the roof where they could get proper sun exposure._

_The man towered over him, scratching his head as he chuckled softly._

_“Because they try to climb over the railing. Some of ‘em think they can fly.”_

_Renji didn’t ask about the roof again. He was content that she seemed to like sitting in the sunbeams- it was better than nothing._

_Today she was smiling, the dark lines around her mouth crinkling pleasantly. Her eyes didn’t crinkle, but at least they were aimed in his direction. Dark and vacant, he could see his reflection in them. What was it that she saw?_

_Caught up in the question, he forgot himself and leaned forward, hands pressing against the metal tabletop. He looked up as he opened his mouth, then shut it again. Her expression hadn’t changed, but her gaze hadn’t either- she was staring at the spot his head had just vacated._

_Biting the inside of his cheek, Renji pushed himself back upright. He watched the sweaty palm prints fade from the gunpowder-gray surface, glad that something in the visitation room was responding to him. His eyes started to burn._

_He wouldn’t mind crying if it would get a response. He would do anything for her if it meant she would actually_ see _him. The boy knew better, though, so he blinked back the unshed tears and got himself under control. He would allow himself this one indulgence, the only thing that he ever dared._

_“They treatin’ you okay, Mom?”_

Renji stared at the discarded paper resting in the otherwise empty trashcan. He considered transferring it to his own waste bin, which was practically overflowing despite having been emptied the night before. Chin resting on his chest, he blinked at the lonely refuse before returning to his desk.

Quickly looking around, he grabbed a torn envelope off the top of the heap and crushed it in one large hand. The lieutenant stalked back over to his superior’s waste basket and dropped the trash inside, nodding with satisfaction at the pair of crumpled papers within.

Duty fulfilled, he jogged out to take a break on the roof.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

 

Replacing the spent cartridge, Byakuya resumed his stance and aimed at the next target.

“Hiya, Princess. Whatcha doin?”

He wondered how good the soundproofing could possibly be if such drivel still reached his ears. Emptying the clip, he removed the headphones before turning to the S.W.A.T. commander.

“What does it look like, Zaraki?”

“Blowing holes in paper ‘swhat,” Kenpachi snorted, leaning against the wall with a bored huff.

Byakuya remained silent, pressing a button to advance the target and examine his aim. As usual, there was a tiny hole centered where the heart should be.

“Pity they don’t hold still in real life,” the grizzled man went on.

“Pity that not every problem can be solved with firepower,” Byakuya murmured, reaching for his headgear. “Is there something you needed from me?”

“Yeah.” Kenpachi frowned, crimping his scar spanning his face like a lightning bolt. He waited for the placid man to look at him again before continuing.

“Yachiru’s goin’ for her black belt this week. Keeps pesterin’ me to make sure yer comin’.”

The detective calmly reloaded his weapon. He planned to go, of course, but there was no need to give in quite so easily.

“B’sides, Retsu can’t make it, so she needs a good mother figure there.”

Byakuya turned to smoothly assume his stance and fired down range, this time aiming for the head.

“Aw, come on, Princess, can’t ya take a joke?”

“If I could not, Zaraki, we would no longer be on speaking terms.”

The slighter man pressed the button again, bringing his paper victim to the fore. He took the sheet and handed it to Kenpachi, whose lone uncovered eyebrow reached for his hairline when he saw the smiley-face that Byakuya had created with bullet holes.

“That is for your daughter. I will attend if I am permitted to bring a guest.”

“The more the merrier; she likes a crowd when she wails on the other rugrats. Got a hot date or somethin’?”

Slate eyes narrowed. “Abarai has expressed an interest in seeing Yachiru spar with a willing partner.”

“Heh, right. Just save the queer shit for after the match, ‘kay? Don’t wanna spook the other parents.”

“I cannot imagine anything more repulsive than you, thus you need not worry.”

“You’re really hurtin’ my feelings, Kuchiki-hime. Maybe we should spar after the kids get done.”

Byakuya rolled his eyes before removing his safety glasses.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your daughter’s mood; she gets quite despondent when you lose.”

“In your dreams, Princess. Anyway, it’s Thursday at seven- don’t go apeshit on the candy this time.”

“How much sugar I ply her with will be indirectly proportional to how well _you_ behave. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The smaller man ducked under Kenpachi’s outstretched arm and left the range without a backwards glance. Changing into sweats, he tied his hair back in a low ponytail before stepping out into a back alley. Byakuya was greeted by thick fog laced with drizzle, the combined moisture of which was offered back up by steaming storm drains and tire-warmed blacktop.

He crouched, allowing himself a small sigh as he re-tied his right shoe. Straightening, he waited for an SUV to pull past before easing into a jog. Though his eyes scanned his surroundings constantly, his mind turned inwards as he began his commute.

Apart from the uninvited interaction with Zaraki, he’d had an unusually monotonous day. After a night of fitful sleep, Byakuya had endured ten hours of district-wide meetings during which he envied the dry-erase board; it, at least, was wiped clean every forty-five minutes. His stomach ached from the banana he’d washed down with tepid, over-steeped tea and the aspirin he’d hoped would avert his headache.

It didn’t.

In retrospect, it was one of the few days that work rivaled his family obligations in terms of sheer tedium. Even so, he was grateful for nearly ten hours of time to think…of what to say to his lieutenant. Byakuya rarely found himself desiring to apologize to anyone, which would make the upcoming conversation that much more awkward.

_There is nothing else for it. We cannot work together and avoid each other._

As he waited for the light to turn, he wondered if this would be ‘it’- would it be enough to finally prompt the redhead to ask for a transfer? Renji had never even threatened as much; they seemed to have made the transition from wanting to kill each other to accepting the other man without the drama that plagued other pairs in their department…perhaps that was about to change.

_It would serve me right to lose him just as we are starting to work well together. I can criticize him endlessly, yet I cannot communicate something of even the smallest importance._

_Damn._

Byakuya took off when the ‘walk’ light blinked on, hitting a solid stride two miles into the run home. The drizzle had turned into a light rain, and the humidity hung heavily in the air, tinting the sky a dense gray that rendered the evergreen trees and shrubs lining the streets vivid emerald in comparison.

He stared at the ropy limbs of cedar that stretched over the sidewalk, showering him with achingly cold water that rained down on his uncovered head.  Not that it mattered much at that point- he was only a third of the way back to the manor and was completely soaked.

He turned onto a side street, which would add several minutes on to his commute but was infinitely quieter than the boulevard he left behind. Rain dropped softly onto the carpet of pine needles lining the pavement, only the sounds of his footfalls in shallow puddles marring the peace of the residential lane.

_He could always go back to S.W.A.T., but I would hate to lose him to that group of bloodthirsty apes. Renji would stick out too much for undercover work, but he would be effective in narcotics...though I suppose he could simply partner up with Kira-kun without having to leave Homicide; they studied together and seem to get along well. It wouldn’t be the first time I worked alone._

Alone.

The word stuck in Byakuya’s mind, quivering like a knife thrown across a room and sinking into drywall.

He ran faster not to try to outpace the idea, but because out here, a nondescript drenched jogger in the suburbs, there was no need to hide how he was feeling.

_I certainly behave like someone who prefers to be alone._

He held that last image of Renji, looking back at him with such hurt and disappointment, in his mind for a moment. It was followed by the long-suffering sympathy of his former sempai, sitting in that place he swore never to set foot in again.

The street came to an end at a T-intersection abutting a small park. Vaguely remembering the trailhead at the far end of the expanse, he stepped on to wilted grass and slowed a bit as he weaved through the abandoned playground. Small mounds of snow and ice remaining from the previous evening crowned the swing set, while a few icicle stalactites clung to the picnic benches set at intervals along the park perimeter.

Byakuya noted the rare clusters of color in the otherwise dead landscape, a few holly bushes wielding their boughs and berries against the overwhelming swathes of gray and brown. Somehow, he was grateful to the drab, early-winter evening; it suited his mood much more than the cloying music and insipid festivity that threatened at every turn in the city.

He picked up speed as he entered the trail, the tree canopy obscuring most of the waning daylight and leaving him alone with his thoughts. The detective nearly gasped aloud when he recalled the second apology he needed to prepare.

_Rukia._

He could have made the lunchtime meeting…if he tried.

_She probably met Kurosaki instead. Perhaps that is best; he makes time for her._

If he was being fair, Byakuya might have admitted that he, too, was making time for his sister, much more that he had in the past. However nuanced he might be in other areas of life, though, he was remarkably black-and-white when it came to duty; nothing short of perfection was acceptable.  And as much as he found the Kurosaki brat’s manners irritating, the boy made it clear that Rukia was his top priority.

_Would that I had done as much; Kurosaki clearly cherishes her, Abarai acts as an elder brother should, and I…at best, I am more of an anonymous benefactor._

Dissatisfaction furrowing his brow he accelerated again, sprinting along the dark path through the woods. Many minutes later, Byakuya barely registered the familiar sight of the high stone wall, though he did slow enough to avoid crashing into the wrought-iron gates guarding the driveway that wound towards the estate. Before he could press the intercom button, the gates swung open and he nodded his thanks to the camera that kept watch over the entrance.

Pace slowing to a leisurely jog, he trotted to the side entrance of the sprawling mansion, grateful to the gas-light sconces there that illuminated the driveway as it turned towards the garages and stables beyond. Pushing back a lock of hair stubbornly plastered to his cheek, he stiffened as he saw an unexpected flash of red.

“Holy crap, you ran in this shit?”

Byakuya blinked. There sat Abarai Renji, draped over stone steps and mostly protected from the elements by an awning overhead. The brawny redhead was clothed in black, from the zipped leather jacket to his motorcycle boots…with the exception of vividly purple earmuffs that clashed gloriously with his hair. The inspector tilted his head slightly.

“Yeah, they’re Rukia’s. She wouldn’t let me sit out here without ‘em.”

_At least one of you has some sense._ Byakuya’s lip started to curl, until he remembered that he stood in front of his subordinate sodden and flushed from his run.

“You should come in and get changed before you get sick…um, sir,” Renji added hastily when the older man raised an eyebrow.

“I would prefer to stretch first. You may go in if you like, Abarai.”

“Eh, I’m fine. I got a little stir crazy inside; all the fancy stuff makes me feel like a bull in a china shop, to tell the truth.”

Byakuya decided against commenting and grabbed his ankle, pulling it behind him as the redhead settled back on the steps.

“Aren’t you cold, sir?”

“For the moment, no.”

Repeating the maneuver on the other side, the slighter man then reached to stretch his hamstrings.

“I just wouldn’ta figured you’d run in weather like this.”

Though still bent in half, Byakuya looked up at him.

“I avoid outright icy conditions, but I see nothing wrong with running in the rain.”

Renji made an odd face: half amused, half embarrassed. 

“Does that surprise you?”

“Um, kinda?” The redhead looked away, scratching behind his ear. “You sorta remind me of a cat… I guess I didn’t think you’d be willing to get your paws wet.”

Byakuya straightened, eyes widening slightly.

“Paws?”

“Well, you know how cats try to walk through wet grass without really touching it, like it’s gonna explode or somethin’ if they put their full weight on it? Then they do that little paw-shaking thing to… nevermind.”

“I think that is best, Abarai.”

Byakuya’s face gave no hint of the smile threatening to break forth. He approached the steps and the blushing young man sprawled over them.

“Will you be staying for dinner?”

Renji’s face went completely blank. As he suspected, the lieutenant’s plan hadn’t extended that far into the future.

“You made the effort to come this far, and I would like to make it worth your while. We have things we need to discuss, do we not?” The Kuchiki blinked down at him.

“Yeah.”

The husky catch in the redhead’s voice made Byakuya’s mind stall for a moment. He paused, exhaled, and tried again.

“I think we would both be more comfortable inside, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah.”

Renji stood and opened the door, allowing his saturated superior officer to step past him. The noble toed off his muddy shoes before turning back to his assistant inspector.

“Thank you.”

Once again, Renji was shocked into silence. He shut the door firmly as he swallowed.

“Um, no problem, Captain,” he trailed off.

“I beg to differ, but I appreciate your generosity.” Byakuya met the other’s eyes for a moment before bowing slightly. “I will return shortly; please make yourself comfortable.”

Turning away, he frowned at the wet footprints he left behind, though the sound of a mouth snapping shut behind him aborted his bad mood quite effectively.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for dinner at Kuchiki manor, Byakuya and Renji finally talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First posted March 2012. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Five_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

 

Renji sat at the bar, leaning on the granite countertop while he stared somewhere between the flat-screen television and the cheerfully lit kitchen. A pale, slender hand deposited a bottle of beer in front of him, and he shook himself out of a daze.

“Thanks.”

Byakuya nodded and claimed the stool beside him, cradling a cup of tea.

“Dinner should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh.” Cinnamon eyes surveyed the scene as if surprised by the lack of paid help in the kitchen. “What’s cooking?”

“Curry.”

A look of apprehension passed over the tattooed face, and Byakuya snorted softly.

“I add extra spice to my own dish at the end. It is safe for human consumption.”

“Phew,” Renji chuckled as his broad frame relaxed quite visibly. “There’s a reason no one steals your lunch at work.”

“Hmm. All this time, I thought it was out of respect.” The Kuchiki’s eyelids drooped as he inhaled the fragrance of the tea.

“Well, that helps, but not as much as the threat of chemical burns. I can tell that crap is atomic from across the room.” One sip later, the redhead set the glass bottle down carefully on the stone surface. “I guess my powers of observation have improved.”

“Indeed.”

Steam curled up from the rice on the stove as both men sat silently, shoulder to shoulder.

“I wanted to apolo-“

“I’m sorry about-“

As suddenly as they had begun speaking, both detectives stopped again. Renji stared determinedly at his beer as Byakuya turned and waited.

“I’m sorry about walking out like that last night,” Renji finally resumed as he rotated his bottle, picking at the label.

The older man nodded.

“I was making stupid assumptions and I took it out on you. I…just for once, I wanted the playing field between us to be level. It was stupid of me to get my hopes up like that, but…” he trailed off, still not looking anywhere beyond the frosty brown glass in his hands. Renji took a deep breath, and Byakuya held his, waiting for it…

Nothing happened.

Thankfully, Kuchiki Byakuya was not the sort of man that needed things spelled out for him.

“You have seen the family photo album.”

“What?!” Renji sputtered violently, eyes bulging as he willed the bolus of beer not to go down his windpipe. “How…h-how did you know?”  

“Abarai, the trifling matter you sought to apologize for could hardly justify the pains you took to come here tonight.”

Delicate fingers held the steaming cup of tea loosely, tendons shifting smoothly under translucent skin. The redhead examined his own hands in comparison, marveling at the armor of calluses and palms twice the width of his superior’s.

“Guess not.” Renji paused. “Rukia showed it to me this afternoon. Why didn’t ya say somethin’?”

The younger man winced; he _hated_ it when his backwater accent slipped out as it often did during times of stress.

“I did not wish to interfere with your experience, though I clearly failed in that endeavor.”

Byakuya’s jaw clenched slightly, which did not go unnoticed by his lieutenant. The pale man released the tea and folded his hands quietly in his lap.

“I am sorry, Abarai.”

_Would that I had summoned the words when you needed to hear them; there is a fine line between reticence and cowardice, Renji, and it shames me that I have learned to ignore it._

“Yeah, me too. I didn’t mean to dredge up any bad memories or anything.” The redhead paused in between sips of beer.

Renji didn’t try to summon up the words to encapsulate what he saw in the pictures, the brief glimpse he’d been afforded into Byakuya’s past. There were elaborate costumes and tango poses held with a tall, busty blonde; heart-melting smiles and a woman identical to Rukia but for her melancholy eyes; an elderly couple with proud aristocratic features; and in all of these a younger, more vibrant Byakuya and in the background, his thriving dance studio. At least now Renji had some idea of what the other had lost.

The tattooed man sighed, running a long finger around the rim of his bottle. “Funny how little shit like this can blow up in your face.”

“Mmm.” Heavy lidded eyes eventually opened and flicked towards the redhead. “Will you continue with the class?”

“Oh, I dunno…I might, dependin’.”

“Depending on what?”

Byakuya saw the poorly-suppressed smirk fighting its way onto the tanned, tattooed face; whatever Renji was building up to, the return of his grin was worth it. The change of topic didn’t hurt, either.

“Well,” the younger man drawled, “depends on if my conditions are met.”

“And what, pray tell, are those?”

“First, you gotta go with me for the rest of the lessons. Second, you can put those expert skills of yours to work and tutor my sorry ass.”

“Oh?” Fine eyebrows rose slightly.

“Hell yeah,” Renji grinned, “I’ll learn faster this way. You and Ukitake-sensei are my best shot for not humiliatin’ myself in public.”

“Is that all, Abarai?”

Byakuya’s lips quirked upward at the redhead’s crooked, exuberant smile.

“Nope. To make up for yesterday, we’re gonna try again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Captain, you and I are gonna do somethin’ together that neither one of us has any experience with. That way, we’ll be even.”

Intrigued, the inspector slipped off the stool and padded in stocking-feet over to the stove.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I didn’t. Seein’ how you got all these hidden talents, I figured we’d decide together.”

Something about the redhead’s tone and word choice struck Byakuya as rather… _suggestive_. Keeping his back turned, he peered into the pot while fluffing the rice, providing a plausible reason for the color dusting his cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that they were planning _a date_.

“Very well, Abarai. I accept your terms.”

“Cool. How ‘bout skydiving?”

Spoon in hand, the Kuchiki heir glanced over his shoulder.

“No.”

“Aw, come on.”

The claret eyes had taken on a mischievous glint and were unaffected by the glare leveled at them.

“I refuse to do anything which minor equipment failure could render lethal,” the Kuchiki heir declared.

“So cave diving and bungee jumpin’re out, too? Where’s your sense of adventure?!”

“Irrevocably lost, most likely.” Replacing the lid, Byakuya turned and grasped his chin lightly. “Speaking of lethal, we’ve been invited to Yachiru’s promotion exercises Thursday night.”

“That I gotta see,” Renji laughed, “but it doesn’t count; we’ve both seen her spar before.”

“I am aware.”

Byakuya eyed the crock pot before stalking to the refrigerator, withdrawing herbs and three varieties of peppers. He reached for a colander as the redhead cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, we’ll think a’ somethin’.”

The older man nodded, rinsing off the produce and setting it aside. A wayward part of his brain mourned that tattoos and motorcycles would be excluded from their list of mutual firsts- the rest of his mind gulped and shoved that thought well out of the way.

 Minutes passed; Byakuya had removed most of the stems before his assistant made another sound.

“Um…”

“I will not poison you, Abarai. The hot peppers and your food shall not meet unless you make it so.”

“I know. I… I actually wanted t’ thank you.”

Kuchiki set the knife down, turning with curious eyes.

“For dinner, I mean. A couple a’years ago, if I’d just shown up like this, you’d a sic’d your security guys on me without a word.”

Byakuya frowned slightly; just because it was true didn’t mean he would acknowledge it aloud.

“Don’t get mad,” Renji quickly backpedaled at the tension creeping into the other’s face. “I’m just sayin’ I’m glad that things‘re better between us now.”

Moving back to the cutting board, a curtain of black hair hid the inspector’s expression as he bowed his head slightly. His reply was softer than the lid clinking over the boiling rice.

“I am glad as well.” Byakuya’s hand hovered over the knife. “And I ought to thank you.”

Renji remained still behind him so he resumed slicing the peppers, pushing thin ribbons of red and green together into a pile.

“You gave me the opportunity to apologize, and did not press for information. I am…grateful.”

The Kuchiki shuddered inwardly at just how small and fragile his voice was at that moment. He wouldn’t risk any further words; not to answer the redhead’s many unspoken questions, nor to defend his own irrational behavior. Byakuya _detested_ being vulnerable and could only wonder at how his single-minded attempts to wall himself off from the rest of the world had failed so badly.

_It is my own fault. I did not have to go with him to the lesson, nor fraternize with him outside of work whatsoever; I could have recommended any number of dance studios, but I directed him to the one that held special meaning for me. I offered no explanation, led him there under false pretense, and hurt him yet again. Even now I can’t seem to apologize properly; such passive-aggressive nonsense is beneath a Kuchiki…it is shameful…and so very typical of me._

As he contemplated the extent of his transgressions, a large hand came to rest on his shoulder.

Byakuya expected to stiffen at the unsolicited contact; he did _not_ expect his eyelids to flutter closed. It was too late to hide his reaction from the redhead whose breath stirred his hair, so he kept his eyes shut, amazed at the heat and the pulse felt easily through his shirt.

“My pleasure, Captain.”

He felt more than heard the baritone rumble of Renji’s voice. Face flushing furiously, Byakuya wished it was due to the spicy chilies in his grasp.

“Anythin’ I can do to help?” Renji queried in a whisper.

“No,” Byakuya exhaled, deciding that his lieutenant was referring to food preparation and answering accordingly. “You are a guest; I will not be putting you to work.”

“Hah! Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“It will not happen again.”

Leaden lids opened briefly but soon drooped; Byakuya nearly groaned in pleasure as fingertips stroked between his shoulder blades.  Choosing to believe that it was merely relief from avoiding a painful topic, the noble was astonished at the warmth that radiated out in waves from the touch, ripples of liquid ecstasy that spilled down his spine and left his limbs heavy.

_What are you doing, Abarai? I have done nothing to deserve this._

He gripped the counter, restraining himself from leaning into the hand rubbing his back and entirely ignoring the herbs waiting to be chopped. Even when the kitchen timer rang, neither man made a move.

“Dinner is ready,” Byakuya murmured, as if trying to convince himself of the fact.

“Mmh.”

“Rukia will be hungry.”

“Yeah.” Renji’s hand slowed, but did not withdraw. “Ever had a massage?”

“Not for many years.”

“Thought so,” The redhead smiled as he squeezed a slender shoulder.  “You’re all knots.”

Byakuya arched an eyebrow and his lieutenant backed away, hands raised in defense and grin widening wickedly.

“I’ll set the table.”

“If you insist, Abarai.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Renji saluted and backed out of the room, only breaking eye contact when a wall came between them.

“You are not in the Navy, Abarai.” Byakuya rebuked the cutting board, waiting for the tattooed man to realize that he did not know where the silverware was, and that the table was already set.

 

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He likened Yachiru’s martial arts instruction to pouring gasoline over and tossing a lit match onto army ants while standing in their midst, though he didn’t plan on ever making that opinion known to the girl’s pugnacious father.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

“So what’s this again? Judo?”

“Karate.”

“Oh. Wasn’t she…?”

“Yes, Zaraki favored concurrent enrollment.”

“Jesus.” Renji’s eyes widened further. He likened Yachiru’s martial arts instruction to pouring gasoline over and tossing a lit match onto army ants while standing in their midst, though he didn’t plan on ever making that opinion known to the girl’s pugnacious father.

“I doubt he would approve.”

Renji groaned. Byakuya walked on in the firm belief that the best jokes were the unexpected ones.

“Not that I mind, but why were we invited again?” The redhead wondered aloud.

“I was told that Yachiru insisted,” Byakuya explained, “though I expect our true purpose is to buffer Zaraki’s brood from the general public.”

“I never really pictured you as an optimist, Captain.”

“I have Unohana-sensei’s number on speed dial.”

“Good call,” Renji grinned.

The men traversed a long city block in the surprisingly mild winter evening, having spent more time in each other’s company that week than most …and without complaint. The redhead kept that factoid to himself; not that he was superstitious, but he saw no reason to risk bursting their delightful bubble by commenting on it directly.

Crossing a narrow alley they marched on, cement swathes of sidewalk widening as the business district began. Renji began to ask for the address-for the twelfth time- as a familiar silhouette came into view which stopped the question dead in his throat. Byakuya couldn’t blame him; neon backlighting rendered the chaotically spiked hair more menacing than usual.

“Evening, ladies.”

A tendril of smoke escaped out of the crooked mouth and up the gargoyle features. The weathered giant had slumped just so, trenchcoat-clad frame compacted under the eave and against the full length windows of the facility.

“Zaraki-keibu.” Renji bowed hastily and reached for the door in one smooth motion, slipping into the dōjō before the mountain of a man could respond.

“Renji, ya bastard! How’ve ya been!?” A bald man’s bellow rang out just before the door closed.

“Kid’s gettin’ better at runnin’ away. Nice to see he’s learnin’ from ya.”

Kenpachi flicked the ash away before chomping on his cigar again, while Byakuya positioned himself upwind and sipped on the last of his rapidly cooling coffee.

“Your entire division is in attendance?”

“Damn straight. Nobody with sense turns down free entertainment,” Zaraki declared.

“Hmm.”

The shorter captain stared off across the street, watching the shifting shadows reflected along the damp bricks of the alleyway. He decided against wrinkling his nose at the smoke that seemed to follow him against the air current.

“Up past yer bedtime?” Kenpachi growled, using his stogie to gesture at the coffee cup. “Feel sorry for the kid if ya miss out on yer beauty sleep.”

Byakuya barely turned to grant him a glare.

“I hope,” Kuchiki murmured coolly, “that your men haven’t imbibed too much tonight?”

“Eh?” Kenpachi’s golden eye blinked before narrowing in irritation. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Tonight? Really?”

Steel eyes returned his gaze, leaving the question hanging between them.

“Damn,” the larger man spat, “it never freakin’ fails; good thing she’s goin’ first. How d’ya know?”

“The reports have been pouring in all month; surely you noticed?”

“I got eyes and ears, dammit.” Kenpachi paused. “I mean, why tonight?”

Shrugging slightly, Byakuya tossed the cup away.

“What, yer ‘spidey sense’ tinglin’ again?”

Kuchiki arched an eyebrow at that, lips tightening into a discontented line. As a man of science, logic, and discipline, he would discount precognition as readily as the next man…if it didn’t happen to him on a regular basis…or happen to be consistently accurate. As useful as his rather preternatural intuition could be, it embarrassed Byakuya to rely on or even _entertain_ such notions.

“Call it whatever you like, Zaraki.”

“Fair enough. Bet’cha first two rounds fer the division…and a karaoke machine,” Kenpachi mused, squinting, “ _and_ a tiara on yer pretty head at the Christmas party if yer wrong.”

Byakuya nodded. “A bottle of top shelf sake for each homicide detective and you will allow Yachiru unfettered license to decorate your section.”

Zaraki frowned, snorting a plume of smoke rather like a dragon. “Before or after sugar cookies?”

The Kuchiki took a moment to weigh his options, and to consider the welfare of the housekeeping staff at police headquarters.

“I will leave that up to you.”

“Fair enough, Sweetheart.”

The noble-born detective let the side of his mouth away from Kenpachi curve up into a smile. _Like stealing candy from a baby...a large, vulgar, predatory baby._

The S.W.A.T. captain deposited the last embers of his cigar in a shallow, sand-filled canister positioned above the garbage can before gripping the door with his oversized mitt.

“After you, Princess.”

Stepping in, toeing off his shoes and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, Byakuya found an unoccupied section along the back wall and settled into seiza, as did the larger frame of Kenpachi, albeit with a grunt. The jocular cries of the amassed officers died down as the instructors of the small school entered and prepared to open the session.

Much to Byakuya’s surprise and unarticulated delight, Renji left his former squad members and sank down at his side. The lights were lowered and the Kuchiki pointedly ignored the amused golden gaze to his left. Byakuya let his eyes roam over the dōjō as the students entered and bowed, identifying a few normal-appearing couples as islands in a sea of S.W.A.T. officers around the training area. He then tracked back to the students, catching a glimpse of cotton-candy pink that pulsed and twittered a good foot shorter than the rest of the pupils.

_Yachiru is in her element._

Though his view of the tiny girl was partially obscured by the heads and shoulders of numerous adults, her gleeful shouts rang out clearly and the occasional high kick was high enough to be seen from the back row. The children in crisp white clothing were halfway through their kata before Kenpachi’s beeper went off.

A middle-aged woman turned around to glare, and then turned right back around when met with the hulking man’s manic grin. Moments later, several more pagers beeped and vibrated; Byakuya turned to the other captain with a tiny smirk.

“Yeah, yeah; save it,” Kenpachi grumbled as he came to his feet quietly. “Mind walkin’ her home?

“Not at all,” whispered the Kuchiki, eyes returning to the center of the dōjō.

In a mere two minutes, half of the assembled crowd had departed. The students carried on, completing their exercises before the sparring sessions and special tasks were assigned.

“What was that about?”

Renji’s polite whisper set Byakuya’s ear on fire; he kept his eyes trained straight ahead and convinced himself that the light was too low to betray his body’s ridiculous response to the redhead’s proximity.

“Arrangements for the holiday party.”

Frowning a bit in bewilderment, Renji accepted the cryptic response and retreated to his own space while Byakuya silently sighed in relief…before realizing that he’d committed them to babysitting duty.

_Another victory quickly reduced to a marginal draw._

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

Luckily for all involved, Yachiru was successfully promoted.

Unluckily for one man, the small girl’s energy increased four-fold in victory and options for expending said energy were…limited.

“Yachiru, kindly stop climbing my lieutenant.”

Byakuya glanced over surreptitiously at the whelp’s attempt to summit the redhead.

Her approach had improved after a few tries; the combination of a running start and a tiny foot placed first on a flexed calf, then the other sole applied squarely to the swell of Renji’s buttock provided enough leverage to reach her goal.

Two sticky palms and eight stubby fingers gripped the Assistant Captain’s shoulder, thumbs digging in deeply enough to punctuate the blocky ink underneath.

“All done,” the grade-schooler cried merrily. “Woulda been faster if ya just picked me up!”

“I _did_ pick you up! Woulda been easier if you stayed put!” Renji growled but reached up, putting a hand on the girl’s back to secure her position.

“You grumble just like Ken-chan!”

That observation prompted more atavistic outbursts from the lieutenant and a firmly suppressed chuckle from his inspector.

_Not exactly like Kenpachi. Thankfully._

“Why doesn’t Eyebrows play with Ken-chan anymore?”

Yachiru looked first to Byakuya, then to her moving playground, eyes wide and curious.

“Lotsa guys play with Zaraki-keibu now. It was fun, but a better opportunity came along for me.”

“Opportunity?” The pink haired pixie blinked. “Is that like playing?”

“Not always,” Renji mused to himself. “It’s harder, but still really important. We catch bad guys, just like your dad does, but the folks we go after are a lot sneakier.”

“Oh.”

Shifting again, the girl sat on the broad shoulders, kicking booted feet absently over collar bones and tugging on strands of bright red hair to steer the man beneath her.

“Ken-chan says you get to solve mysteries. Does Eyebrows like mysteries?”

“Yeah.”

Yachiru beamed. Byakuya did the same, albeit inwardly.

“Will your kids have red hair?” The girl queried.

The Kuchiki façade betrayed nothing, though the redhead’s eyes widened enough for both of them.

Renji paused, tilted his head back, and looked directly [if inversely] into pink orbs.

“Dunno. Why d’ya ask?”

“I’m wonderin’ where my color came from,” Yachiru stated simply.

“Hmm.” Inked eyebrows waggling, Renji brought his gloved hands to rest over the appendages drilling into his chest.

“I don’t think it’s as simple as mixin’em together like finger paint.” The solemn baritone warmed as words poured out. “Maybe if you’re too wild, it literally makes you go funny in the head, Technicolor hair and all.”

“Bright-haired funny heads?” The girl carefully enunciated, then repeated a few times as she came up with a song to fit her new lyrics, her tiny voice echoing through the otherwise silent street.

Yachiru started plucking on the red tresses in a regular rhythm, directing the march of the trio in a jubilant cadence in to the night. Not for the first time that night, the Inspector was torn between annoyance, amusement and hesitant curiosity; the fleeting melancholy in Renji’s amber eyes bringing the last to life.

They eventually arrived at the converted warehouse, Yachiru’s singing voice and Renji’s hair mostly intact. A freight-elevator ride and security system override later, Kenpachi’s petite terror of a girl was unleashed into her native habitat.

Renji settled back into the couch- it was safest there.

All of the lights were on, including those in the walk-in closet and bathrooms; power pop rang out from the stereo, the [muted] television flashed images from a hockey tournament, and for reasons the redhead decided not to ponder, an electric egg beater was in use.

“Their electric bill must be gigantic. No wonder they don’t put up more lights for the holidays.”

“I imagine the fire marshal is grateful.” Byakuya stood behind the sofa, coat and scarf still in place.

“What’s she doing?” Renji sat up a bit and turned to peer warily towards the kitchen, unable to see much of the girl behind the counter.

“Preparing a milkshake.”

The dapper man remained focused on the flat screen despite the sounds behind him.

“With an egg beater?” The redhead frowned. “Well, I guess that’s a little safer than a blender but…um…do milkshakes usually have cookies and pretzels in ‘em?”

Byakuya closed his eyes. “I certainly hope not, though I am not an expert.”

“You okay, Captain?”

“Yes. I find this rather difficult to watch.”

“The hockey game or the milkshake prep?”

“The former,” Byakuya replied, tone less decisive than his word choice suggested.

“Yeah, me too. The camera pans so fast it makes me sea-sick,” Renji guessed, grinning slightly when the older man appeared relieved. “It’s not so bad in person.”

“You played hockey?”

“Nah, I was always too busy recovering from lacrosse to really give it a try.” Chin resting in hand, he studied the older man. “You?”

“Only field hockey as a child. I…” Byakuya paused.

“Don’t know how to ice skate?”

The Kuchiki nodded slightly, sneaking a glance at the screen before abandoning it again.

“Me neither.” Renji flashed his biggest, most conspiratorial grin at his superior. “And there we go.”

“Abarai?”

“We’re gonna go ice skating.”

“Oh.” Byakuya tilted his head slowly in contemplation. “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“Good. “

Advertisements heralded the end of the game, and Renji pressed the remote firmly to shut the television off.

“Though I dunno about their outfits.”

Byakuya ran a gloved finger along the cushion of the couch. “I am reluctant to ask your meaning.”

“You know, the frilly spandex stuff like you see during the Olympics?”

Expression unchanging, the inspector took a deep breath.

“Abarai, such costumes are only employed for competitions.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Right.”

“While on the topic of spandex…have you watched any of the videos that Ukitake-sempai suggested?”

“The Latin dance championship from last year? Not yet. Why?” Renji’s amber eyes widened uncertainly.

Byakuya gave an enigmatic almost-smile as he turned to answer a knock at the door, Yachiru showing no signs of abandoning her efforts at dessert. Glancing through the peephole he blinked, unlocking the deadbolt as he stepped back.

The door swung open just as Renji rose from the couch.

“Greenie?”

The words spilled from Renji’s mouth unbidden, and did not suddenly retract as he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Byakuya turned to look at him, as did the shapely young lady in the doorway.

“Greenie?” A tiny echo escaped out of the kitchen.

 “Hmm. Greenie.” Pink eyes wide, she whispered the phrase repeatedly, trying it on for size. “Not bad, Eyebrows.”

Yachiru sprang forth, a glucose-fueled rocket that collided squarely with the new arrival’s abdomen.

“Hey, Yachiru!” Greenie replied, catching the projectile child and bowing to the men staring at her blankly. “I’m Nel, the babysitter.”

“Hi, Nel,” Renji recovered lamely, waving. “Abarai Renji, and I think you’ve met Captain Kuchiki?”

Bouncing Yachiru on her hip, the tall woman turned to Byakuya.

“Oh…of course, from Monday night!” Nel grinned. “I thought you two looked familiar. Captain Zaraki told me I’d be meeting the Princess and the Tiger, but I had no idea what he meant. Nice to see you again, Kuchiki-keibu.”

Renji groaned as he watched the Kuchiki stiffen.

_Zaraki is consistent, at least_. “You have spoken with him this evening?” Byakuya spoke in a careful monotone, deflecting Yachiru as she attempted to leap from one adult to the next.

“Yeah, my fiancée was in on the bust as well.” Her eyebrows drew together briefly. “I heard from both of them already. Zaraki-keibu hasn’t called?”

Right on cue, Byakuya’s cell phone vibrated softly in his pocket. He stepped back into the alcove by the door, taking the call while the brightly colored trio moved away from the threshold.

Struggling not to laugh out loud, Renji watched the lady formerly known as Greenie was drawn in by her charge. A most amazing transformation took place; the longer Nel spent in Yachiru’s presence, the more she acted like an eight year-old, devolving right in front of him and matching the other girl’s intensity in a breathtakingly horrifying manner.

A game of tag broke out, punctuated by body slams and flips over the furniture. Renji backed away slowly and approached the foyer as the other man hung up.

“A car will be sent for us shortly.”

“Shit. Did something happen?”

“No officers were harmed,” Byakuya began, watching his subordinate relax slightly, “but they discovered corpses while securing the site.”

“Mmh.”

Renji’s frown disappeared before they took their leave from the dynamic duo, but reappeared by the time they reached the elevator.

“Are you all right, Abarai?”

“Yeah, just tired; figures we’d get a case now.” The redhead paused and stared at Byakuya, as if searching for an overlooked clue. “You got ‘that’ feelin’ earlier, didn’t you? No wonder you were drinking coffee so late in the day- shoulda known.”

“I apologize for not recommending a cup more forcefully.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’d just end up wired but draggin’ ass anyway.” Renji swallowed. “So much for attention to detail.”

“Your attention to my caffeine intake is irrelevant,” Byakuya replied a bit peevishly. His eyes softened a bit as he gazed at his lieutenant, though, and he then spoke in a gentler tone.

“Abarai, you will perform your usual duties tonight, but if you wish, you may act as lead investigator as well.”

Renji suddenly straightened up to his full seventy-four inches, eyes bright and fatigue evaporating instantly.

“Really?”

Kuchiki nodded, not intending to repeat himself.

“I won’t let you down, sir!”

“I know.”

  _You haven’t yet, Abarai._

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detectives are rescued from babysitting duty by a quadruple homicide. Beta'd by leila-blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: descriptions of violence...or the aftermath, anyway.

_Chapter Seven_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

The ride in the compact car was long enough for the heat to kick in, a pleasant warmth circling his lower legs and tickling his nose.

Renji was just getting comfortable as they approached the tenement…and sleepy, though the soporific atmosphere would evaporate the moment the car door opened. He blinked, taking in the toys, bikes and litter strewn over the dirt yard; the alternating flashes of blue and red light from atop the police cruisers reminded him of 3-D films viewed without the glasses, casting eerie shadows down the blighted street.

The sedan pulled past the armored vans and squad cars, allowing the detectives out and continuing on in the unenviable task of finding a place to park. Renji’s large, booted feet slapped along the uneven sidewalk, stepping over the caution tape and striding toward the gated entrance.

They paused, trading their coats for jumpsuits, paper bonnets and plastic booties before going in, a measure to avoid crime scene contamination that Kuchiki-keibu adopted and lobbied for early in his career. It looked silly [at least to Renji] but had improved the quality of trace evidence collection enough to become the departmental standard.

After ascending a narrow flight of stairs, Renji entered the apartment, Byakuya a silent shadow to the rear. Bare beige walls and an ancient brown and orange shag carpet appeared intact; only the kicked-in front door betrayed the evening’s conflict. The redhead noted the paucity of furniture - a folding table, a stained mattress and two sofa cushions - and the bare light bulbs illuminating the main room before approaching the S.W.A.T. commander guarding the interior hallway.

“Hey,” Zaraki Kenpachi gruffed, looking unexpectedly regal in his Kevlar-clad uniform. His golden gaze peered down, inspecting them without expression. “You runnin’ this one, kid?”

“Yeah,” Renji affirmed without squirming, though he still had to crane his neck upwards to meet his former captain’s eyes. “Looks pretty clean.”

At that, Kenpachi grinned. “Damn straight; nabbed the sons-of-bitches without firin’ a shot. The four musketeers are being processed as we speak; we found firearms but the drugs were cleared out, probably earlier this week.”

“They were tipped off?” The redhead scribbled in his notebook as his eyes roamed.

“Dunno. I think these bastards get paranoid and move their stashes around regardless; these guys have at least three other safehouses in the city, besides the cooklabs, according to Narcotics.”

“Anyone else living here?”

“Doubt it.” Zaraki adjusted his collar. “Kitchen’s empty, as are the closets and the smaller bedroom. The place is sublet, but we think the perps’ve been here since the summer.”

“Other exits?”

“Not officially. No screens in the windows but no fire escapes either; the only exterior door’s the front.”

Renji nodded, pen slowing. “Who found the bodies?”

“Jiruga took out the door and cleared the room, didn’t touch anythin’ else; the closet was open when he went in. B’sides the two of us, no one else’s been in or out.”

The redheaded lieutenant nodded, grateful that the S.W.A.T. commander had personally guarded their evidence.

“Neighbors on both sides are across the street with uniforms; M.E.’s on their way. Anythin’ else?”

“Nope. Thanks for everything, Zaraki-keibu.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kenpachi waved them off, picking up his helmet. “Consider it a token of my appreciation for babysittin’.”

The giant of a man stalked off, almost reaching the front door before pausing to look over a squared shoulder.

“Speakin’ o’which, how’d she do?”

“She was flawless,” Byakuya spoke for the first time since their arrival. “I believe Shiba-sensei caught most of it on video.”

“Really?” The cragged planes of Zaraki’s face converged into a smile. “Well, the little shit of an instructor might be worth somethin’ after all. Goodnight, ladies.”

Kenpachi sauntered into the entryway, sending the newly-arrived forensics team scattering like so many cockroaches caught by surprise. Renji limited himself to a smirk as he stepped through the hallway, nodding to the uniformed officer that stood before the last door on the left.

The makeshift sentry returned the nod as he stepped aside and past them, making for the exit as the redhead’s gloved hand closed on the doorknob.

The master bedroom was tiny and as desolate as the outer portions of the apartment, its contents consisting of a weathered mattress below an unadorned window and four bodies lining another wall. Renji took a deep breath, barely acknowledging the cloying stench that hung thick in the air as he crossed the threshold.

_Okay. I can do this._

_“Own your space; you are responsible for the crime scene, and must move through it accordingly. Treat the members of your team with respect, but in no doubt to whom they answer to.”_

His eyes wanted to flutter closed, a desire he channeled into a slow blink as he took in the room for the first time.

“ _Cross the tape with your eyes open, mind quiet and your mouth shut. Your first duty is to observe objectively, taking in all of what you see, hear, smell and taste; do not take any notes during this primary survey or you will focus more on the words than on your subject.”_

After exploring an empty closet, Renji paced the perimeter of the bed, noting the shallow, circular depression in the carpet nearby as he moved towards the window. He let his gaze move over the sill, the paint chipping from the aluminum frame, and the embattled shrubs in the yard below as he let the familiar words wash over him.

_“Move from the least to most disturbing features of the scene. If you focus immediately on the obvious, on the gore, you might miss important details hiding in innocuous places.”_

He’d heard the speech dozens of times, but it wasn’t until that moment that Renji realized he’d committed his captain’s advice to memory. He stole a quick glance behind him; Byakuya’s tranquil gaze flicked only briefly in his direction before returning to the window, lingering there as if admiring a piece of art. Renji bit his tongue; between the monologue in his mind and his inspector’s placid manner, they might as well have been on a museum tour.

Duly cataloging that rogue notion, the tattooed lieutenant came to a stop at the ‘main exhibit.’ The four corpses had been propped up, leaning against each other and the wall and legs strewn haphazardly over the carpet. The younger two of the quartet had slumped and slid partway down the wall, staining the ecru paint a rusty brown on the way to the floor. A portly fellow and a wiry, heavily tattooed older man remained well positioned nearer the door.

_“Make your own observations before conferring with the medical examiner or with the forensics team; their areas of expertise may differ and their input is useful, but your viewpoint is every bit as valid and ought not to be summarily discarded if there is a conflict.”_

Renji smiled despite himself and his surroundings. He’d been astonished the first time he’d been lectured so- the very last thing the brand-new homicide detective had expected were words of encouragement…of confidence…of _faith. And from Kuchiki freaking Byakuya, no less._

Settling into a crouch, the redhead inspected the bodies more closely.

_I knew I would learn a lot, but I expected to be cut down and humiliated in the process. Kuchiki-keibu doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but he isn’t cruel or vindictive like I’d expected he’d be; his criticisms are many but fair, but the praise…_

Renji stood, shaking the warm fuzzies off before they blossomed into something both regrettable and poorly timed. As he straightened, a slim shadow darkened the doorway and pushed its gleaming glasses up with a sigh.

“Hey, Uryuu.” 

A serious young man stepped into the small room, setting his bag down and bowing his head slightly to the “good evening, Ishida-sensei,” that wafted over from the quiet captain by the window. Renji retreated to give the medical examiner space as he caught sight of the black bowtie beneath the jumpsuit.

“Wow, what were you up to?”

The redhead imagined the sound of all gravitas being sucked out of the room, a _whoosh_ that might also have been blood rushing through his ears…or the combined death-ray glares of the other men in the room.

“A thwarted attempt at a pleasant evening,” Ishida grumbled, shifting in his tuxedo as he retrieved a smaller case from the duffel bag by his feet. “The only consolation being that I could sneak out right as the encore began.”

“Shame, that.” Renji abandoned further attempts at conversation as Uryuu went to check the first victim’s core temperature. Meeting calm gray eyes briefly, he turned back to the closet opposite the bodies to begin the secondary survey.

_“As you evaluate things for a second time, allow your findings to form and shape hypotheses. Be succinct yet thorough as you make your notes; the time to edit and eliminate will come later, when you have sound reasons for doing so.”_

Extending a hand, he tapped along the back and soffit and finding no loose or hidden panels within; Renji then patted down and lifted the mattress, spare coins and a sheet of fabric softener his only finds. Byakuya finally abandoned the window, padding over to stand silently by the door as the younger men continued their work.

A few minutes later, Uryuu began collecting his instruments and Renji flipped to the beginning of his notebook.

“When you are ready, Abarai.”

Ishida spared the redhead a glance, a brief twitch of his eyebrows the only mirth that escaped before he turned back to his charges.

“From the look of the carpet and the nearby electrical outlet, there was a small appliance, probably a stereo or alarm clock, by the bed there,” he pointed with a nitrile-gloved finger to a round indentation in the shag. “I’m not sure why they removed it; no blood n’gore made it anywhere near there.”

The inspector nodded.

“Closet’s been empty for a while: no hangers, dust on the shelf is pretty thick but undisturbed, no impressions in the rug.”

Renji pivoted and gestured to the four dead men on the floor.

“They were moved here. There isn’t any splatter, just the smear you’d expect from the way they were positioned post-mortem. I’m also gonna go out on a limb and say that those two,” he indicated the younger men furthest from the door, “were either killed much later, kept in a cooler place for a while, or both.”

“Probably right on both counts,” Ishida volunteered as he pointed to mottled skin on one of the younger victim’s backs. “Judging by the amount of livor and lack of rigor, these two were shot hours after the older men, even factoring in their smaller size and proximity to the window.”

_Which explains why the older two are holding their poses better,_ Renji mused as he took in their stiffened limbs again. _Rigor’s already kicked in, and the warmer temperatures further into the room may have accelerated that a bit._

“As for likely cause of death,” the medical examiner went on, “all four have gunshot wounds to the chest, close proximity from a small caliber weapon. The head wounds were inflicted post-mortem, also small caliber. The two nearest the door were probably killed between nine and twelve hours ago, the others two to four. That’s it for preliminary findings.”

The forensics team appeared at the door, setting their equipment down gingerly as they rolled a gurney in.

“Anything you need, doc?”

“That will be all.” Ishida looked over his shoulder. “Don’t you have anybody to interview?”

Renji grinned. “A cast of thousands is more like it. Take it easy.”

Striding confidently from the room, he caught a look of - _contentment? -_ from his superior officer, yet he didn’t dare to speak or think or _breathe_ until they had examined the rest of the dwelling and were almost outside.

_Not bad for a junior detective; all the other Lieutenants have to sit back and wait for forensics and the M.E. to decipher the crime scene for them, and the rest of the Captains don’t seem to mind. Kuchiki-keibu hates to rely on others…it makes him a little OCD, and more than a little demanding…but his attention to detail is part of what makes him so fucking brilliant._

_Why he chose to take on a clown like me as his subordinate, I may never know._

Peeling the jumpsuit and prophylactics from his person, he gazed expectantly at the older man.

“Any more thoughts, Abarai?”

Truth be told, Byakuya’s silence was making him more nervous than usual, despite its necessity; how else was he to learn? _He won’t always be here to tell me the right answers_ , Renji thought with more than a hint of sadness, _though I can’t imagine doing this without him._

He shook his red locks out, ignoring the curious look he received.

_Focus, dammit._

“Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure those bodies were found. What makes most sense to me is that some inexperienced thug known to the group got paid to whack a few guys, shoot them again later with a different weapon, plant the bodies _and_ the gun on site here, then put in the call to get the others busted…and maybe frame them for murder?”

“It seems likely,” Byakuya mused as he retrieved his coat.

“Ahh, good.” Renji winced, wishing he didn’t sound _so damned relieved_ at the other’s endorsement.

“Anything else?”

The short-lived relief evaporated, and the redhead’s heart sank slightly. _He only prompts me like this when I’m missing something._

“Just tell me,” came the resigned sigh. He bent over to remove his shoe covers.

Cool fingers seized his chin, and Renji nearly toppled over in shock.

_Since when do you touch anyone?_

“Stop sulking,” Byakuya commanded softly, angling up the other’s face until their eyes met.  “For your first case as primary detective, you are doing well. Do not let a single comment from me or anyone else derail your confidence so easily.”

Renji’s eyes widened. He heard the words but couldn’t put them together in a way that made sense. 

“As the more experienced detective, it is expected that I notice details that you might overlook. It is unrealistic to expect to do this job by yourself; hence, we work in pairs. Do you understand?”

Byakuya released the muscular jaw, stepping back as Renji nodded. They watched each other for a moment before the older man spoke again.

“Do you have a theory as to how the bodies were transported?”

The redhead took a moment to think. He’s seen no blood anywhere else in, or leading to, the apartment, nor any obvious disturbance in the ugly shag carpet to indicate that they were dragged into the master bedroom.

“Um…not yet,” the lieutenant admitted as he stood upright.

“There were linear marks on the outside surface of the window frame.”

“Oh, yeah,” Renji muttered absently, staring at the boot covers crushed in his hand.

“It appeared, to me, that someone recently leaned a ladder against the sill, dislodging paint there and along the edge of the outer pane.”

“As they snuck out the window and closed it from the outside?” The redhead tossed the refuse away, reaching for his coat as his brow furrowed. “The apartment complex’s maintenance shed’s barely twenty-five yards from the back of the flat, and I saw a few ladders stored in there; I bet that jackass locked the door from the inside, schlepped the bodies up the ladder, probably with help, and went out again while the other geniuses thought he was asleep or stoned or something.”

“With that level of sophistication,” Byakuya murmured drolly, “the suspect…or suspects may not be content to leave well enough alone.”

Inked eyebrows twitched as he read between the lines of his superior’s statement. “How stupid would you have to be to stay and watch the cops come?”

“Judging from their treatment of the corpses… if they felt the police would be fooled by their efforts, they might also think us inept at interviewing witnesses or securing the scene.”

“Mmh.” Renji bit his lip lightly. “So, how’dya wanna handle this, Captain?”

“As primary detective handling this case, I believe that decision rests with you.”

By now, Renji’s earlier embarrassment had been dwindled down enough to be manageable; as the gears of his mind turned, he could feel a wicked twinkle come in to his eye.

“Well, then,” the redhead grinned, zipping up his jacket. “It’s time for bust number two.”

 

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the investigation continues, Byakuya has a bit of deja vu. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Eight_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_“Well, then,” the redhead grinned, zipping up his jacket. “It’s time for bust number two.”_

The cold air hit, and his most serene, innocent expression was in place.

Byakuya was a patient man - the unapologetically satisfied smirk could wait until after the arrest. He was practically bursting with pride about just how well _his_ lieutenant was handling the case…and he himself was actually having _fun_.

Not that he could say as much; he would confine himself to muttering something wittily dry after the fact, as was expected of him. As he scanned the assembled crowd reined in by the crime-scene tape, Byakuya narrowly avoided letting a smile emerge.

_“I’ll make like I’m talking to the press; you find the idiot reporting our every move into his cell phone.”_

It was almost too easy.

Front and center stood their ‘suspect’ [prey?], a preternaturally pale loudmouth sporting spiky platinum-blonde hair, shifting restlessly while tapping his sneaker-clad toes on the sidewalk, outfitted in white sweats and _wearing sunglasses at night._ Byakuya sighed, shooting a meaningful look to the officer alongside him before he eased his way into the group of onlookers.

_I wonder if Ishida-sensei could sue for a refund on his symphony tickets?_

The oblivious young man continued to bark into his mobile, commenting on the unusually red hair of the detective mingling with the reporters across the street. Byakuya drew closer, handcuffs out and at the ready.

“Eh, he hasn’t even talked to anybody yet! What’s he doin’ chattin’ up the papers like that? Actin’ like he’s got it all figured out already while I’ve been out here freezin’ my ass off…what a big fucking letdown.” The man coughed and spat to the side before resuming the conversation. “Yeah, I know. Can I _please_ come home now?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The cuff clicked shut around the thug’s wrist before he had time to react…which involved both a startled jump and dropping his cell phone simultaneously. The Kuchiki twisted the hood’s arm around while grabbing the falling phone, eyeing the display as the patrol officer secured the other wrist.

“W-what the fuck?!”

_My thoughts exactly._

Byakuya looked at the uniformed officer, ignoring the suspect completely.

“Tachibana-san, if you would be so kind?”

“Yes, sir,” the stolid man replied, whisking their perpetrator away to a nearby patrol car…and, mercifully, out of earshot.

“Uh, hello? Otouto-san?” A thin, static-distorted voice rang out of the phone in his suede-gloved hand.

Byakuya stared at the tiny speaker in disbelief. _What is our society coming to?_

“I’m sorry,” he replied, more to be polite than to persevere to the end of the comedy routine. “He seems to have dropped his phone. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, right. This is Kon.” A pause. “Ya got a nice voice; have I heard ya on the radio or somethin’?”

A delicate eyebrow threatened to twitch fitfully as the inspector contemplated hanging up the phone.

“I don’t believe so,” Byakuya managed in a frightfully sedate voice. “However, I fear that I have lost track of your brother. Perhaps I can return his mobile to you?”

“Would you? Okay; I’ll be in the ramen shop on West 14th and Main, the one right next to the coin laundry? I’m the handsome guy in the blue striped jacket…”

Were he a lesser man, were he not a Kuchiki, his hand would have smacked his forehead soundly as his heel crushed the phone into the pavement. As neither of those conditions had been met, he simply wrote down the directions and cringed inwardly at the thought of his report that would follow, at the idea of having to commit such criminal stupidity to paper. Byakuya ended the call and dropped the phone into an evidence bag, handing it to a forensics technician and waiting for his inner calm to return. Several minutes later he watched the last of the crowd disperse; Renji finished taking a statement and turned towards him.

“How’d it go?”

The crooked grin fell a little at the unusual expression the Kuchiki wore. Gaining control of himself, Byakuya handed his lieutenant the recently-acquired address as they located their car.

“Our last stop of the evening.”

“Oh? What’s there?” Renji trotted along, opening the door and sliding in behind the steering wheel with one fluid motion.

“Another suspect, I’m afraid.”

The redhead looked bemused as he announced their destination over the radio, buckling his safety belt and pulling out from the curb.

“Um, did something happen?”

Byakuya shook off the worried look with a sigh.

“Words fail me, Abarai. I believe you will understand shortly.”

One tattooed eyebrow rose in question as the inspector closed his eyes, placid expression fixed firmly in place in a last-ditch effort to keep his composure.

_I will need something stronger than tea when I get home._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Unfortunately for Kuchiki Byakuya, neither tea nor home were in his immediate future.

Late night stretched into early morning, all suspects were interviewed…and re-interviewed, and the office coffee pot was emptied three times. It was almost five in the morning when he finally pulled his stalwart Assistant Inspector aside.

“Abarai, it is time for a break.”

The hazed amber eyes cleared for a moment before sinking back into exhaustion.

“I’d love to, Captain, but-“

“This is not negotiable,” Kuchiki interrupted, excising the young man’s Styrofoam cup of coffee and leading him away from the interrogation room. “You’ve had enough of that rot-gut to power a train and yet your concentration is still failing.”

“But what about the suspects?” Renji looked over his shoulder as if expecting them to break free at any moment.

“They will be kept awake by unpleasant things such as processing and blood draws while you take a power nap.”

“Oh.” The redhead’s resistance waned as they neared their office. “So we’ll use their sleep deprivation to our advantage, eh?”

“Exactly.” Byakuya opened the door, motioning the lieutenant inside.

The younger man plopped into his chair, eyes closing as his ponytail brushed the headrest. The inspector disappeared into the closet on the far side of the room, gently shifting file crates and a few undisplayed plaques until he found what he sought.

“That’s brilliant, Kuchiki-keibu.”

Renji’s muffled voice barely reached him in the storage space; he stepped out to find the redhead leaning on his desk.

“Would you like to lie down, Abarai?”

One bloodshot eye cracked open wide enough to see the tightly-rolled futon that the captain had located.

“Nah. Blanket would be nice, though.”

“Very well.” Byakuya disappeared again, replacing the roll in its hiding spot and selecting a fleece throw in its stead.

By the time he shut the closet door he found Renji asleep, arms cradling his head on the desk. Byakuya’s tired eyes softened, approaching the other quietly and draping the blanket over the broad shoulders that rose and fell gently with each snore. It seemed but a short time had passed since Ukitake-keibu had gifted him with that futon, had similarly pried the Kuchiki away from an interview and nudged him into a darkened room for a few minutes rest. Byakuya smiled at the memory, his stubborn refusal to cease and desist and Juushirou’s seemingly infinite patience still fresh and vivid in his mind. 

Stealing a quick glance at his watch, the inspector slipped out of their office and up the narrow stairway at the end of the corridor. As he pushed the door open, Byakuya briefly considered going back for a cup of tea…or at least a coat, as the temperature had dropped below freezing in the hour before dawn. Deciding to forego such creature comforts he stepped out onto the roof in shirtsleeves, hoping the chill would be as restorative as his subordinate’s nap.

Admiring the city skyline’s palette of muted brown and gray buildings punctuated by the occasional flash of neon light, the detective let his thoughts wander as he deliberately paced the railing. He would need more than a few minutes to let the details of the case settle to his satisfaction, to convince himself that further machinations did not lurk beneath the farce they were subjected to the previous evening. He closed his eyes, and the niggling rasp of his subconscious grew louder.

Byakuya gave up.

Withdrawing his cell phone, he keyed in the text he’d been contemplating for hours and after a quick review, sent it with a sigh. Rather than wait impatiently for the reply, he pocketed the phone and let his eyes drift over the horizon again.

His imagination went on to the press conference that would be held in a couple of hours, and he allowed himself a smile at the thought of Renji’s tall, exotic figure breaking up the monotony on a dais packed with stuffed shirts and career politicians.

It was not so long ago that Byakuya had his first good look at Abarai Renji.

_A jarring knock rattled the door of his office._

_Byakuya looked up over the top of his frames at the spiky silhouette projecting onto the glass pane; it violated the tastefully bland décor of the department in every conceivable way._

_His initial impression only solidified when the door opened._

_“Abarai Renji. You wanted to see me?” A pause, then a surly afterthought. “Sir?”_

_Of course, the Kuchiki had done his homework. He expected the scarcely veiled defiance and the angular tattoos vying with flaming hair for dominance._

_Byakuya did not, however, expect the searing, primal charisma that rolled off the redhead in waves. He caught his breath softly but did not let his jaw drop as it wanted to._

_“Please have a seat, Abarai-san.”_

_The noble-born man rose smoothly and offered his hand, putting gentle emphasis on the honorific as he spoke. As he hoped, his gesture diffused the other’s snarling defense slightly. This was a job interview after all, not a pissing contest._

_“You’ve put in a request for a transfer to homicide?”_

_Renji nodded, claret eyes fixing on the file that lay open before the older man._

_“Your penmanship is appalling and very few of your case reports have been filed on time.”_

_The redhead stiffened in his seat, fire reigniting his fierce features._

_“Though given your tutelage thus far in Special Weapons,” Byakuya continued in carefully cultured tones, “that is hardly surprising.”_

_Again, the inspector was mesmerized by the young man’s volatile temper and how tenuous his control of it was. Even so, Abarai Renji was checking himself from responding to the Kuchiki’s silky taunts, which was better than the homicide detective had expected after hearing Zaraki-keibu’s colorful description of the redhead._

_“Clerical skills may readily be acquired, however, and are not what interest me.”_

_While that wasn’t strictly true - Byakuya_ hated _sloppy reports and would later invest a good deal of time and effort in undoing S.W.A.T.’s damage to Renji’s written expression - it got the point across and helped the tattooed man hold his tongue._

_“I would like to discuss your analysis of the uptown raid last month.”_

_With that, Byakuya lifted the lid on a large crate of case reports and diagrams that occupied a third of his otherwise immaculate desk. They spent the next few hours reviewing each operation that Renji had been involved with since he graduated from the Academy, fine-boned hands leafing through every page the redhead had touched during his brief career._

_Byakuya had watched with interest as the initially truculent S.W.A.T. operative relaxed over the course of their interview, first draping his blazer over the back of his chair, next loosening his tie, then crossing his legs and slowly swiveling back and forth as their discussion deepened. Initially guarded features grew animated, gestures taking on enthusiasm as Renji relived the planning and execution of the maneuvers he’d taken part in._

_He couldn’t indicate as much, but Byakuya was positively intrigued by this young man. Renji’s point of view was so very different from his own that it baffled him, and that rough, edgy persona only served to draw him in further. The blue blood hadn’t intended to hold the longest job interview on record…he was simply curious about how and what the tattooed man was thinking._

_It was nearly lunchtime when Renji first flashed him that endearing, lopsided grin. Byakuya’s mind went completely blank but his mouth came to the rescue._

_“Why do you want to be a homicide detective, Abarai-san?”_

_The redhead paused as he encountered the first conventional question of the whole proceeding._

_“Two reasons, really. First is, I can kinda identify with most criminals…as you probably figured out from my juvie record.” Renji waited for the delicate nod of the inspector’s head before proceeding. “I mean, like it or not, most people do that kind of stuff for a reason, sometimes as their best or only option for survivin’.”_

_A moment of silence spread between them, and Byakuya decided not to ponder exactly how much experience Renji had garnered in the criminal sphere._

_“But,” the younger man went on, “a life’s the one thing you can’t really atone for stealin’. Yeah, we all lose our innocence and not always by our own choice, but with murder you’ve destroyed someone else’s future. I couldn’t really wrap my head around that, and I guess that’s why I figure that of all the awful things people do to each other, that’s the one I would set myself against.”_

_Byakuya was unexpectedly moved; he’d heard a lot of clichés about the nobility of their work during his tenure in the department, but found he could not dismiss Renji’s reasoning as easily. As such, he paused momentarily out of respect for the thoughtful reply before inquiring further._

_“And the second reason?”_

_“Oh.” Renji smiled again, now looking downright devious. “Because you need me.”_

_The inspector felt his eyes widen almost comically._

_Renji chuckled, grin growing more crooked as he leaned in with something wicked in his eyes. That sinful mouth opened and-_

_-the phone rang._

_Byakuya cursed telephones in general, and Kurosaki Ichigo in particular, for robbing him of the opportunity to hear whatever saucy comment Renji was about to bestow on him. The detective lifted the receiver to his ear as the redhead rose and made for the door._

_“I look forward to working with you, sir,” Renji murmured with a quirked eyebrow and a smug grin that both infuriated and fascinated his future superior officer._

_Byakuya blinked in disbelief as the door shut._

Another door swung open and he turned slightly to look over his shoulder at the sleep-tousled blond that approached along the rooftop.

_How long have I been daydreaming?_

“Morning, Kuchiki-kun!”

Urahara Kisuke looked the same as always, unruly hair and perpetual stubble unaffected by the time of day.

“I appreciate you coming so quickly, Urahara-sensei.”

“Good Lord, Bya-bo, don’t be so formal this early in the morning!” The scraggly man grinned at the faint grimace that the moniker evoked in the other man. “It makes you sound like you’re in a bad mood!”

_I wasn’t until you arrived._

Byakuya turned back to the sky-scape of the slowly waking city, sundry lights coming on in the wake of a few intrepid, early-rising souls. “I apologize for calling you in.”

“Feh, don’t bother,” Urahara waved him off, sniffing at the concoction hidden within his thermos. “You’d never trouble me without reason, though I do wonder what you’re up to. Is Ishida-kun not performing up to snuff?”

“He is, by far, the most scrupulous medical examiner on staff.” Byakuya paused to let the barb sink in a bit. “I am requesting your assistance in expediting trace and toxicology processing.”

“Oh?” The chief M.E. for the metropolitan area raised an eyebrow. “For a few gunshot victims?”

“The four are connected by more than their wounds, but I am not yet sure how.” The inspector pursed his lips as he chose his next words carefully. “The theatrics around their discovery might simply have been a diversion, but I suspect it was deliberately orchestrated for another purpose.”

“Hmm.” Kisuke’s blithe grin faded as he grew pensive. “Can you be more specific about what you’re looking for?”

The blond was surprised by the outright hesitation that the usually unflappable Kuchiki displayed.

“The positioning of the bodies was unsettling,” Byakuya said softly. “Rather like an _offering_ reminiscent of-”

“Don’t say it…shit,” Urahara muttered with a groan. “Do you have anything objective to back that idea up with?”

“No, not at this time.” Byakuya would not verbalize the strength of his intuition, knowing it was writ plainly on his face.

“Why now? After the time that’s passed-“

“Exactly fifteen years since the first known murder, and two years since he was last seen,” the captain finished. “Aizen Sosuke was always fond of anniversaries.”

“Shit,” Urahara repeated, frowning as the wind brushed back his bangs. “That would just figure, wouldn’t it? And you’d have a hard time justifying an investigation of someone who’s already been declared dead.”

“Precisely. I realize that the analyses to detect the hallucinogens he favors are quite expensive, but I’ll request that the expenditure be drawn from our -“

“Don’t bother, I’ll do it,” Kisuke interrupted. “Your impression is good enough for me. If we wait for the go-ahead from admin the evidence may degrade past the point of being useful, not to mention giving him more of a head start.”

Byakuya nodded, trying not to look too relieved.

“Besides,” the blond resumed his usual goofy grin, “I’ll get to play with our spendy new toys and irritate Ishida-kun while I’m at it. It’s a win-win. I’ll even run it by Shunsui…after I’m done.”

“That will not be necessary; I shall have to speak with Kyouraku-keishi-chō about security for our suspects anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Urahara shrugged and began his retreat back into headquarters, slowing as he reached the thick steel slab of the external door.

“Oh, and Kuchiki-kun?”

“Yes?”

“If you’re right…if Aizen’s still out there, don’t try and take him down on your own.” Kisuke looked at him soberly. “That didn’t work out so well last time.”

The door slammed shut.

Byakuya turned towards the wind, letting it buffet his face until his eyes burned. He allowed himself a full five minutes of repose before he fully blinked away the sting and stopped his teeth from chattering.

_No sense in dwelling on the past._ He could almost see Renji’s infectious grin, hear the warm growl of the redhead’s voice as he held the younger man’s oft quoted advice in his mind, settling his nerves and banishing any external trace of emotion.

Pointing his narrow feet in the direction of the door, Byakuya tread softly along the roof as he gathered his thoughts, avoiding the most disturbing memories and centering instead on the tall man snoozing in his office.

_The present has its charms, after all._  

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji learns about his 'fan club,' and the detectives are properly introduced to their John Does. Beta'd by leila-blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for fluff, corpses, awkward displays of affection...and an unusually long chapter.

_Compression, Chapter Nine_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Good morning, hot shot!”

“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too, Rukia.” The redhead grumbled, not looking up from his computer as he gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

The diminutive girl swatted him on the back of his head as she took her seat. “Keep up the lip and you’ll alienate your fan base.”

“I don’t _want_ a fan base; I’m a freaking public servant, not some pop idol,” Renji growled, typing with more emphasis than was strictly necessary.

“Oh, come on; your department doesn’t get much positive press,” Rukia scolded him, smoothing her skirt as she idly kicked her feet. “So you get a little love from the public after your T.V. slot; surely you can cope with a few fangirls?”

The lieutenant shot her a baleful glare.

“Ooh, all that time with Nii-sama’s paying off; I’m almost scared!” She giggled and settled into her seat.

“Shut it, short stuff. We’ve got enough to do without dealing with more crazies.” His fingers slowed to a standstill over the keyboard. “Though some of the flowers were nice.”

“Speaking of which…where is all the loot?”

“Evidence room.”

“Eh?” Rukia’s large violet eyes widened. “Why?”

“Captain’s orders; flowers, cards, and candy are considered dangerous until proven otherwise,” Renji quoted in his most dignified monotone.

“Wow.” She blinked. “Remind me not to send you anything for your birthday.”

“Don’t be a dork; I’d rather enjoy from afar than die of anthrax by mail.” Renji typed a bit more. “And if he thinks some perps might try to send us a Trojan horse, then I trust his judgment.”

Rukia smiled. “There _is_ some hope for you, after all.”

Cinnamon eyes narrowed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes twinkled. “He’s proud of you, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renji exhaled through pursed lips, willing the flush away from his face. He was relieved when the door opened again, a shock of orange hair saving him from attempting any other reply.

“Yo, pineapple! Nice press conference,” Ichigo cooed, strolling over to stand by his seated friends.

“Fuck off, berry; all I did was stand there,” Renji growled and ignored the girl’s obvious offense at his language.

“Smart move, considering the crap that comes outta your mouth,” Kurosaki snorted. “How’d ya manage to convince the ice princess to let you lead?”

Rukia punched the reporter in the arm, hard; Renji didn’t move but didn’t hide his smirk either.

“I didn’t - he offered.”

Both intruders stopped their nascent brawl to turn and stare at him.

“What?!” Renji yelped in defense, feeling his face turn bright red as they turned back to each other with knowing grins.

“Don’t you two have anything better to do?” The redhead griped, “Like study or paint each other’s toenails or something?”

“Is that your idea of a hot date?” Ichigo’s grin turned evil. “No wonder you’re not getting any.”

“Ahem.”

Three heads turned as one towards Byakuya, who stood in the doorway with eyelids at half-mast and expression unreadable after clearing his throat. Rukia rose abruptly and bowed, elbowing Ichigo in the ribs until he did the same. The room was quiet until Renji’s hand made contact with his forehead with a smack.

“N-nii-sama,” Rukia stammered, not looking at her brother directly. “S-sorry for bothering you at work, but I wanted to tell you I won’t be home for dinner tonight.  My midterms are this week, and I wanted to spend the night studying on campus.”

“You may do as you see fit, Rukia,” the captain made his way quietly to his desk, “as I will be otherwise engaged this evening.”

Byakuya’s eyes met Renji’s for a split second before coming to rest on his sister.

“Will tomorrow be acceptable, brother?” She bowed again.

“Of course.” The gentleness left the noble’s voice when he addressed her companion. “Oh, and Kurosaki? They’re asking for you down in evidence.”

Rukia and Ichigo were making for the door when the latter suddenly turned around. “Evidence? What for?”

“They seem to have located your death ray1.”

Byakuya looked up at the reporter, watching with serene detachment as the blood drained out of Ichigo’s face.

“Oh…um, thanks,” Kurosaki slipped out before further words could be exchanged, a confused Rukia following in his wake.

The door clicked shut. The inspector looked to his lieutenant, who had paled much like his friend.

“How did’ya know?” Renji inquired with marginally concealed guilt.

“Abarai, we work in a building with glass doors and two-way mirrors,” Byakuya sighed. “It might behoove you to learn to lip read.”

“You’re somethin’ else, Captain.”

“An ice princess, perhaps?”

“Oh, fuck.”

Renji went face-down on his desk, the chilly surface quite soothing to his overheated skin. He could still feel amused gray eyes upon him as he considered ways to make Ichigo suffer that were either legal or untraceable. A moment later, it finally occurred to him to wonder exactly how much of the previous conversation his superior had overheard.

The redhead kept his cheek pressed to the cool metal of the desk while he took stock of the situation. Byakuya wasn’t stupid, nor was he deaf [lip-reading ability not withstanding]…and his reasoning was flawless; surely he must have noticed that Renji’s interest lay outside the bounds of their working relationship? And if that was true, what did his silence on the subject mean?

Renji closed his eyes as his mind reeled. The older man hadn’t withdrawn, nor had he confronted his lieutenant about his carnal leanings; if anything, Byakuya had been supportive, attentive, _playful_.

_My God, has he been flirting with me?_

_There’s just no way…_

_How the fuck did I not notice? Does he even realize what he’s doing? It is_ me _, after all…he could do so much better, not to mention that he’d never seriously consider breaking the million rules it would take for us to get together. And if there’s a blind spot to Kuchiki intuition, it would be sticking to rules, happiness be damned._

“Abarai, are you all right?”

The concern in the sonorous voice made Renji sit upright. Those wonderful platinum eyes were trained on him again, making his pulse soar helplessly.

“Yeah, Kuchiki-keibu, just trying to get my feet out of my mouth.”

_I’m so smitten with you I’ve turned into a complete idiot._

“Your earnestness is endearing, Abarai, but you are taking this too seriously; I was only teasing you.”

“I know.” The lieutenant swallowed. “I just didn’t want you to think that I…that I don’t respect you, sir.”

“Renji.”

The redhead’s breath caught; he _loved_ the way his name sounded rolling off the other’s elegant tongue.

“You have given me no cause to suspect any such thing. Are we clear?” Byakuya’s eyebrows had drawn together, a worried little wrinkle forming between them despite the clear authority in his tone.

Renji found his voice. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Byakuya paused, countenance completely calm again. “I have a meeting to attend over the next hour; after lunch we will meet to review the autopsy results. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course, sir.” Renji bit his lip as he hesitated. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“I had planned on it.” The Kuchiki tilted his head slightly. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Oh, no, not at all; I’m gonna learn to dance if it kills me. I just wanted to make sure you were still willing.”

“I gave you my word, Abarai. I hope that is enough.”

Their eyes met again; the hint of caution, the vulnerability that Renji witnessed in that gaze made him want to jump up, sweep Byakuya into his arms and kiss him senseless. In a rare moment of restraint, however, the redhead kept his urge in check while he considered his options.

“Your word is more than enough for me, sir.” The tattooed man took a good, deep breath as he came to a decision. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I need to do.”

The sable-haired man nodded and dropped his eyes to his laptop as his subordinate slipped out the door. Renji stood there for a moment with his back against the glass as he found his resolve and headed towards the administrative wing.      

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Though he’d been gifted with a discerning palate, Kuchiki Byakuya rarely had much of an appetite.

He disliked the somnolence that followed large meals slightly less than the feeling of being overly full; as a result, indifferently picking at food was a firmly entrenched habit of his well before the excuse of blood and gore presented itself.

As he made his way to the basement, Byakuya considered that latest area of divergence between himself and his assistant captain: lunchtime. The Kuchiki had pushed his sashimi around distractedly while observing his gourmand of a subordinate stuffing his craw, inhaling his own bento box, two rice balls his captain wouldn’t attempt, and a bag of crisps filched from Hitsugaya-kun down the hall.

Byakuya had found himself holding his breath, as if expecting the redhead to aspirate during his high-speed feeding frenzy. Renji had looked up once, coming to a complete halt when he noticed his superior’s stare; the inspector then exhaled and gave up on his repast entirely.

_He eats enough for both of us…as if he doesn’t know when his next meal will be._

Byakuya clucked his tongue at himself for the useless, morbid thought as he reached the ground level hallway.

_Renji is not a street urchin anymore; he simply approaches food with the same gusto he brings to the rest of his life._

Slate gray eyes blinked as they approached the morgue, and the inspector wondered when he took to addressing his lieutenant by his first name.

_Even if it’s only in my head, it is still inappropriate. What is wrong with me?_

Byakuya shook his head imperceptibly as he opened a door of glass and steel, bringing a pungent odor - one part chemical, one part decay - to his attention and causing his stomach to turn.

_I shouldn’t have eaten at all._

A mosaic of tan, red, and black rounded the corner.

“Hey, Kuchiki-keibu, they’re ready for us.” Renji’s smile faltered as he looked his superior over. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine, Abarai.” Byakuya brushed him off gently as they moved down the hall.

“You sure? You look a little pale, and you didn’t eat much at lunch, come to think of it.”

“My tea was a bit strong,” the Kuchiki lied for no apparent reason.

“Oh. You should let me handle that, then.”

“The tea? For what reason?” The noble bristled.

“You only over-do the matcha2 when you’re busy, usually ‘cause you’re thinking too hard,” Renji declared with certainty. “I can make a decent cup’a tea, you know; no sense in you wasting your time on menial stuff like that.”

Byakuya’s pace quickened in annoyance.

“You are my lieutenant, Abarai, a detective - not an errand boy.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the redhead chided him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Lotsa guys in the department get coffee or lunch for their captains; it’s no big deal.”

“It’s demeaning,” the Kuchiki huffed lightly.

“Not if you say ‘please’,” Renji waggled his eyebrows with a grin. “Besides, if I bring you food then you’ll have to eat it, right? It’d be good to fatten you up a bit.”

Byakuya came to a dead stop, eyes wide.

“Don’t look at me like that, Captain.” The tattooed man reversed course, coming alongside the shocked inspector and slinging an arm around stiff, slender shoulders. “Somebody needs to look after you, and I’m just the guy for the job.”

Renji steered them towards the lair of the medical examiner with a smug look, ignoring the resistance his captain was offering to his efforts.

“What has gotten into you, Abarai?” Byakuya censured, sounding much more peevish and less indignant than he intended.

“Food - you should try it sometime.”

The Kuchiki pressed his lips into a thin line as they came to the morgue, gleaming ceramic-inlaid walls and automated doors a stark contrast from the rest of the otherwise antiquated building. Renji relinquished his grip on the other man as the doors slid open.

“Gentlemen, welcome to our humble abode!” Urahara’s saccharine tones rang out. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“Yes,” both detectives replied hastily as they stepped inside.

“Suit yourself,” Kisuke chirped, tugging at the neck of his scrub top, “But there’s a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”

“I’m in,” Renji decided, looking to his captain who silently shook his head.

“Lovely! Cream and sugar are in the break room.”

“As is the odd sample of body fluid,” Byakuya murmured under his breath, causing Renji to snort suddenly.

“You wound me, Kuchiki-kun! Everything in the refrigerator is edible…it’s the freezer you need to be wary of,” the blond winked at the redhead, “It’s another great way to keep your lunch from getting pinched.”

“On second thought, Doc, I think I’ll pass on the coffee,” Renji muttered as he paled.

“Oh, don’t you lose your sense of humor too, Abarai-kun!” Urahara placed a palm on each detective’s back with a hearty clap and directed them down the hall. “Well, let’s not keep our other guests waiting.”

Another set of double doors opened ahead of them, revealing a cold, tile-clad room with metal tables and many more refrigerated compartments lining the walls. Byakuya focused on the drains and shadows beneath the exam tables, allowing his dark eyes to adjust to the blaze of fluorescent light raining down and glaring off every surface.

An electric guitar rang out through the acoustically live space, its jubilant melody jarring with the harshly sterile trappings of the morgue. It took a moment for the inspector to identify the artist, but with recognition came a frown.

_Steely Dan? Oh dear._

It was a quirk of Urahara Kisuke’s that he’d noticed years ago, one that he hadn’t yet informed Renji of: the music blaring out of the docking station was a quick, accurate indicator of the man’s mood. When bored, Urahara favored a medley of world music, punk and indie rock; when playful or in the company of the easily irritated (usually Ishida-kun or Kurosaki-kun), he unleashed a string of boy-band teen-pop hits, techno and 80’s power ballads; if a particularly challenging case or budgetary issue came to the fore, strains of Beethoven and Wagnerian opera filled the room.

On the rare occasion that bodies or evidence were tampered with, or that his considerable intellect was outmatched by an unscrupulous attorney, serial killer or other nefarious character, Kisuke’s tastes turned to the intellectual and Avant-garde rock of decades past. In the Kuchiki’s experience, bad news from the medical examiner was almost always presaged by the Talking Heads or Steely Dan playing in the background.

Byakuya caught the blond’s eye for a moment, and noticed that the stubbly smile did not reach it.

_Then it is as I suspected; Aizen Sosuke has simply been biding his time._

“Hey, Uryuu, how’s it hangin’?”

Renji’s voice sliced through his thoughts like a knife, though Byakuya didn’t quite track the words; his lieutenant’s gruff greeting elicited a sharp reply from the young assistant M.E., and their tones overlapped and tumbled through the sleek space.

“All right, kids,” Urahara eventually broke into the younger men’s’ banter, “let’s get on with the main event here. Ishida-kun, if you’d be so kind?”

The blond settled onto a stool as the younger man flitted about the room, baring each body to the waist as he folded back the sheets covering the corpses arrayed on steel tables. Byakuya’s appreciative eye trailed over each of the deceased, noting the Y-incisions marring each chest and perfectly even stitches that Uryuu had sewn to close the wounds when the autopsies were complete.

_It is a rare and admirable trait to take such pride in one’s work._

“My preliminary findings stand as reported,” Uryuu began, pausing by the first body, “both for cause and time of death. There were no defensive wounds or evidence of other recent injury on closer examination; all four John Does received fatal gunshot wounds to the thorax, leading to hemorrhagic shock.”

“Three of the four victims were through-and-throughs, but we retrieved a bullet from this fellow,” Ishida gestured to the stout, middle-aged man lying before him. “Ballistics matched it with a Glock used in an armed robbery last year that subsequently went missing from evidence; it wasn’t among the guns confiscated during the bust.”

“And the head wounds?” Renji prompted, leaning against the wall as he crossed his arms.

“You’re in luck there. All four match the 0.38 found on the scene.”

The redhead released a nonplussed grunt. “Yeah, lucky for us our perps are from the shallow end of the gene pool.”

“On the bright side,” Kisuke continued with a grin, “the vics are no longer John Does.”

“Oh?” Renji’s eyes widened hopefully.

“The fab four were kind enough to have been arrested previously,” the blonde went on, opening a file on his computer.

At that, the Kuchiki moved forward to look over Urahara’s shoulder in silence. When he sensed the approach of his lieutenant, Byakuya stepped to side and went to peruse the corpses.

“Local,” Renji muttered, staring at the screen, “no families…the older guys racked up enough charges to have been career criminals, but probably not a bigwig among them.”  

“It’s an unusual problem to have,” Kisuke mused. “Knowing how, when, and who was killed, and by whom, but not where or why.”

“We’ve got the ‘where’ covered too,” the redhead corrected. “Abandoned warehouse in the port district; as for the ‘why,’ the idiot brothers got cash for the hit, and they didn’t bother to question the order further.”

“They yakuza?” Urahara wondered.

“Nah, _they_ have standards; these two’re odd-jobbers that invest in a lotta bling in a desperate attempt to get laid.”

Both medical examiners snickered at Renji’s assessment, while the tattooed man blushed for some reason.

“Well, that’ll give Vice a bit to go on,” the lieutenant declared, “but like you said, with the perps in custody and having confessed, there’s not much left for us to pursue.”

An odd glimmer shone in Kisuke’s eye, which did not escape Renji’s notice. While considering that, the redhead turned to find his superior standing quietly among the corpses in the morgue, gazing at one in particular.

“Urahara-sensei,” Byakuya began quietly, “what medical conditions did our victims have?”

“Good question,” Urahara grinned, hair falling into his eyes. “Ishida-kun?”

“That’s a fistula,” Uryuu pointed to a large, ropy blood vessel that protruded from the victim’s forearm. “It’s surgically created to allow easier access to the circulatory system for dialysis.”

“Dialysis?” Renji repeated, stalking over to the body in question. “A guy that young had kidney failure?”

“Indeed; the surgery’s usually done well in advance of when dialysis should have to start, to let the vessel mature enough to handle the strain of use. From the look of the scar and the skin over the area, the surgery was done within the year, but he hadn’t started dialysis yet.”

“Yikes.”

Byakuya watched the two stare at the corpse, a murdered young man with life-threatening organ failure who had been the same age as the redhead and solemn physician.

“Was he on a transplant list?” Renji wondered.

“Yes,” Ishida went on. “Nowhere near the top, though.”

“How about the others? Any of them transplant candidates?”

“Not quite,” Urahara replied cryptically.

“Eh?” Renji’s face froze halfway towards an outright frown.

“Bachelor Number Two, here,” Kisuke pointed to the heavily tattooed corpse, “had liver failure from advanced viral hepatitis.”

“Why wasn’t he a candidate? I thought livers were easier to come by,” the redhead muttered, scribbling in his notebook as his eyebrows cinched together.

“To be frank, no organ is exactly ‘easy’ to come by, though if it helps if you can get them from living donors, kidneys and parts of the liver being examples,” Urahara instructed. “However, they don’t give organs to people that don’t follow the rules; in order to receive such a precious resource, you have to prove that you’re already taking good care of yourself. If you don’t, you don’t make the list.”

“So…” Renji began, waiting for one of the medical examiners to fill in the blanks.

“Track marks.” Uryuu gestured with a hemostat, indicating a multitude of puncture wounds in various stages of healing over the dead man’s arms, legs, and neck. “He was shooting drugs, which might have been how he contracted the virus in the first place. They wouldn’t waste a liver on a guy still poisoning his system like that.”

“I see.” The redhead continued to write for another few moments before lifting his head to look at the obese corpse on the next table. “How’bout this dude?”

“Nothing beyond the expected,” Ishida stated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “His prison records indicated slightly elevated blood pressure and cholesterol, and he was on his way to becoming diabetic, but those problems were years, possibly decades away from causing any physical symptoms or endangering his life.”

“And the last one?” Renji didn’t look up as he continued to take notes.

“Clean bill of health, according to his record,” Urahara volunteered.

“And according to you, Doc?”

“Very mild inflammation of the airways,” Uryuu chimed in, “consistent with an asthma exacerbation. The gross findings were subtle; it was only under a microscope that we saw anything significantly abnormal. This gentleman might not even have known he had asthma.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant’s writing slowed to a standstill. “So they’re all bachelors, all with criminal records …but two’re career cons, the others pretty green with no hard ties to organized crime. These two had failing organs, but the others were for all rights and purposes fine? I gotta be missin’ something.”

The medical examiners exchanged a meaningful look while the redhead paused in thought.

“Whole thing’s weird,” Renji summarized. “From the bust onward, the case’s been givin’ me a funny feelin’.”

As if for reassurance, the assistant captain sought the eyes of his superior. Keeping his countenance calm, Byakuya willed him to understand.

_Your intuition is valuable, Abarai - ignore it at your own peril._

Renji nodded. “Urahara-sensei, how common is it to have kidney failure?”

“To the point where dialysis is needed? Not very,” Kisuke answered. “Even less common for a young man like this - most cases result from chronic medical conditions and take decades to progress to that point, hence usually affecting older people.”

“So, if it’s relatively rare to begin with, how many in the prison population would need dialysis?”

“Just a handful in the metro area.”

“Hmm.” Renji was writing again. “What about liver issues?”

“Not as easy to track, because there’s no treatment short of transplant.” Urahara scratched his nose with his thumb. “But I can tell you that convicts that report end-stage liver problems are a pretty small bunch, too.”

“It would be a helluva coincidence, then,” the redhead hypothesized, “to have these two guys killed by those brothers at the same time, eh?”

“A pretty big one, yeah,” the blond allowed. “But why?”

“Reduce the competition for organs?” Renji posited.

“Ooh, crafty,” Urahara chuckled. “But that doesn’t take into account that our inked-up friend here wasn’t eligible…or that Bachelor Number One was _waaay_ down on the list.”

“Right, damn,” the lieutenant bopped himself on the head three times, trying to clear his mind.

“You might be on to something, Abarai,” Byakuya interjected, “in that these men may have been targeted for their health concerns, or lack thereof.”

“Whaddya mean, Captain?”

“The victims were killed using a weapon that was smuggled out of police custody,” the noble began. “It stands to reason that a criminal with access to our evidence section could also hack in to the corrections database and mine it for medical information.”

“It’s possible,” Kisuke mused. “They aren’t advertised, but security breaches in the mainframe do occasionally happen. But to what end?”

“This is a bit farfetched,” the inspector hedged, “but if I were a pharmacologist-“

“A farm-ah what?” Renji interrupted.

Uryuu rolled his eyes. “A person that studies the effects of drugs, genius.”

“Thanks for translatin,’ Professor. Anyhoo…”

“Were I interested in a new compound, an assortment of subjects such as this might be supremely useful,” Byakuya stated.

“ _Subjects_?” Renji repeated, shuddering at the implication. “What for?”

“What Kuchiki-keibu is referring to,” Kisuke explained with a sly smile, “is that a body only has so many ways of getting rid of whatever we put into it, the liver and kidneys handling the lion’s share of the detox.”

“Okay, I get that,” the redhead tucked his pen behind his right ear. “But then, what gives for the other two?”

“Obesity also changes how much, or how often a drug might need to be given to have a particular effect,” the blond continued. “Gender and age can as well, but your mastermind might be too chivalrous to experiment on the fairer sex yet.”

“What about the lungs? Would a breathing problem make a difference with this stuff?” The lieutenant frowned, slowly pacing around the healthiest of their victims.

“Not so much,” Urahara stretched, leaning back on the stool. “And don’t forget, this kid’s asthma wasn’t listed in his record; it might have been undiagnosed.”

“So he could have been the control subject?” Uryuu guessed.

“Control?” Renji echoed.

“A normal, healthy person that acts as a baseline for comparison with the others. And, yeah…” The chief M.E. flipped through the files piled by his computer. “…he might have given us a clue to how the mystery med was administered.”

“Three of the four had no needle marks,” Ishida explained to the detectives. “Their stomach contents were negative for pill fragments as well.”

“Then they inhaled the drug?” The redhead ventured.

“Could well be,” Kisuke declared. “This guy’s asthma may have been triggered by exposure to the active ingredient itself, or the delivery system used to administer it.”

“But this is all just conjecture,” Uryuu frowned. “We haven’t gotten any toxicology results to back that up.”

“Au contraire, mon frère,” Urahara grinned, liberating a file from the bottom of the stack. “Akon just delivered the g.c. and mass spec swab results.”

“Swabs? From where?” Renji grimaced, imagining their horrific origin.

“Nose, lips…” the blond ticked off, “and then we decided to just go head to toe to increase our yield.”

“And?” The redhead completely failed to hide his rising impatience.

“And,” Kisuke repeated, “Between toxicology and trace, we identified the same foreign substance in or on each victim. Behold.”

With a keystroke, the chief pulled up a computer-rendered chemical compound, the identities and configuration of the molecules therein unintelligible to the lieutenant as he squinted at the screen.

“Derived from the stamen of _Pieris japonica 3_, also known as ashibi,” Urahara reported. “At high doses, it’ll put you into a coma; in smaller amounts, it acts as a hallucinogen.”

“How do you know all that?” Renji asked the senior M.E.

“Because we’ve seen it before, though it had only been injected up until now, as ingesting it renders it inactive.” The usually jovial blond frowned. “If it’s aerosolized, you could drug someone without their knowledge…maybe even a large group. This is practically tantamount to biochemical warfare.”

Renji’s next words were carefully enunciated. “You said we’ve seen this before?”

“Yep. It’s been a few years now, but say hello again to Kyouka-suigetsu.”

“Shit.” The redhead hissed through his teeth.

_That seems to be the universal response,_ Byakuya registered subconsciously.

“I knew that fucking bastard wasn’t gone,” Renji went on to the surprise of his superior. “Aizen’s too damned evil to just up and die.”

“This is all still circumstantial,” Urahara confessed, “and nothing here would be enough to kickstart a manhunt for a supposedly dead guy, but this serves as notice: he’s back, and he’s that much closer to his fabled ‘complete hypnosis.’”

“We can still go after his associates,” Renji asserted.

“But the presence of his favorite drug doesn’t prove anything, beyond that it’s still being manufactured,” Ishida argued. “Besides, I thought most of You-Know-Who’s henchmen were dead or missing.”

“He’s not Voldemort, for fuck’s sake,” the redhead fumed. “The scumbag knows we’ve got nothing; this whole case was just his way of flipping us off.”

There was a sudden _crack_ ; the medical examiners jumped at the noise, and the imperturbable Kuchiki simply blinked as Renji snapped his pen in two. The seething lieutenant stared at his newly-inked hand and let out a string of curses aimed mostly at the absent criminal ringleader. When the invective died down, Byakuya produced an alcohol wipe and retrieved the pen shards with a spare nitrile glove.

“I believe that concludes our session, gentleman,” the inspector’s smooth voice assured. “We are grateful for your diligence in this matter.”

The captain directed his still-grumbling assistant out of the morgue, disposing of the writing implement remains in the appropriate receptacle as the door opened. Halfway down the corridor, the glowering redhead came to a stop.

“How d’ya do it?” He rasped.

“Do what, Abarai?”

“Stay so fucking calm all the time,” Renji exhaled slowly, desperately trying to keep himself under control. “After what that monster did-“

“It makes no difference.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘it makes no difference?’ He almost killed Rukia…” the tattooed man’s voice threatened to break, “hell, he _had you shot_ , Captain…”

“Abarai.” Byakuya stood directly in front of his lieutenant, stormy gray eyes searching the other’s face. “I will pursue him no more or less doggedly than any other criminal, as our mutual history and any related feelings have no place in my work.” 

“I…I don’t…” Renji’s eyes closed as he shook his head. “Dunno how you do it.”

The stoic man paused. “Nor should you.”

Cinnamon eyes popped back open in surprise.

“Your feelings do you credit, Abarai; emotionality is as much a part of you as aloofness is of me,” Byakuya pronounced, head tilting slightly. “In this partnership, one ice princess is enough.”

A peal of nervous laughter unexpectedly escaped the redhead’s lips as his eyes widened; even as he clamped an ink-stained hand over his mouth, Renji’s shoulders shook with unsettled mirth. Byakuya’s thin lips curved gently upwards at the display, though they fell open in shock as his subordinate surged forward.

“Abarai, what-“

A second later, the noble’s willowy frame was entirely engulfed by the brawny, glomping redhead.

Face pressed against the other’s lapel, the aristocrat wondered how his attempt to comfort Renji ended in a bear hug not five meters from the morgue. As higher cognitive function took a temporary hiatus, Byakuya paused to ponder the spicy scent emanating from the other man. _Cardamom? No...clove, perhaps?_ The inspector couldn’t place the exotic note, but found it an alluring alternative to the harsh chemical bouquet hanging heavily in the air.

“Damn,” Renji murmured, grip unrelenting, “you’re somethin’ else.”

Exercising his typical restraint, Byakuya remained quiet until the other’s distress subsided.

“Abarai.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind?”

“Nope,” Renji sighed contentedly. “This is nice.”

“Abarai.” A warning note sounded in the noble’s muffled voice. “Have you forgotten where we are?”

“Nah, the smell gives it away,” the redhead went on merrily. “Makes me kinda hungry, actually.”

Byakuya began to count to ten in his head, considering his few non-violent options for liberation.

“I would like to breathe now, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, sorry!” Renji relinquished his prey suddenly, if reluctantly, running his hands along the older man’s shoulders and arms absently as he apologized.

“Abarai, take the afternoon.”

“What?!” The assistant captain’s hands froze. “Why?”

“The stress of this case has clearly affected your judgment,” Byakuya murmured drolly, smoothing out his suit and dislodging the larger hands of the redhead.

“Hey!” Renji gruffed, lips plumping in a pseudo-pout. “What about the write-up?”

“As you are lead on the case…and as I am feeling generous, I will complete today’s report.”

“What, really?” A bright, toothy grin erupted on the tattooed face. “Makes me wanna hug you again.”

An elegant eyebrow arched. “I suggest you reconsider.”

Renji raised his hands in mock surrender, silly smile undimmed.

“Perhaps you can channel some of your enthusiasm into the lesson tonight?” Byakuya recommended.

“So…when’re we doin’ our one-on-one, before or after?”

The noble blinked. The redhead’s tone was _so naughty_ that the fastidious man wouldn’t believe his ears.

“I’m guessing,” Renji husked, leaning in to whisper, “that means after?”

Before Byakuya could blink again, his subordinate was strutting down the hall, whistling as he went. The captain stood stock still in the halls of the morgue, face blank and head spinning.

_What has gotten into you, Abarai?_

Regaining control of his body, Byakuya turned and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, mortified to feel the heat radiating from his blushing face.

_For that matter…what has gotten into me?_

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Footnotes for Chapter 9:

1\. Reference to chapter one, for those who suppressed that experience.

2\. In Byakuya’s defense, I learned the hard way what happens when you make your matcha too strong [e.g. not following the directions on the packaging]; if you thought coffee was an anorexigen and/or potential cause of stomachache, holy mother of pearl...

3\. As far as I know, the Japanese Andromeda [a.k.a. ashibi or _P._ _japonicum_ ] is NOT hallucinogenic, nor does it have any properties rendering it worthwhile as a recreational drug.  I decided to include it for its relevance to Aizen, not to encourage any herbal misadventures.

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	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji plays hooky and has an illuminating interaction with Ukitake, street food and Spandex not withstanding. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Ten_

 

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Renji slid his sunglasses into place, smiling at the sky.

The unusual sight of work-hour daylight buoyed his mood, and he strolled into the open-air market unaffected by the bracing cold of the winter afternoon. Nose guiding his steps, he drifted past the temptations of broth and savory, tender meats and found himself in line for taiyaki.

Thirty minutes later, the redhead emerged with as much food as he could carry. He munched absently on a fish-shaped incarnation of happiness, watching his reflection meld with the season’s fashions in the large storefront windows of the business district’s boutiques.

_I look like I just escaped from a zoo…or a motorcycle gang. Not sure which one I prefer._

Renji paused mid-chew as he contemplated two slightly related scenarios; his inspector lounging languidly and nude in a cage, or pressed along his back as they straddled his Harley. His claret eyes crossed slightly at the potential of leather, chains and collars, and he swallowed the fish-cake tail with a gulp as his trousers grew a bit tighter.

A sales clerk paused to shoot him a questioning look; Renji came back to himself and ceased his loitering.

“Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself,” the lieutenant mumbled as he resumed his walk.

 _Still_ , he reached for another snack, _today was incredible._

Most impartial observers would agree; pawing at Kuchiki-keibu twice in a day and living to tell about it was no small feat. He’d been shaking the entire way to administration that morning, but Kyouraku-keishi-chō’s advice had turned out to be extremely useful; Renji’d had his doubts, but finally conceded that the time for subtlety and half-measures was past. His mouth went dry as he relived the feel of that lithe frame in his arms; the look on his accosted superior’s face had been _adorable_ , the sweet scent of his hair divine. It almost took the sting out of Aizen’s re-emergence, though the second that Renji’s thoughts turned in that direction, his heart sank.

_It was just like this last time._

It astonished him how quickly they fell into their old routine.

_I get angry, he calms me down; I get bored and restless, he kicks me out and does all of the work. We’re both stressed and upset, but I’m the only one that’ll show it. I remain useless, and he’s alone again._

Renji came to an abrupt halt, barely noticing the ‘Don’t Walk’ light before the cars accelerated in front of him. For the second time that day, he came to a decision.

_Not anymore. I may irritate the living shit out of him in the process, but I won’t let him push me away again._

The last week hadn’t exactly been a resounding success, he acknowledged as he crossed the street.

_We haven’t exactly had a heart-to-heart…but we’re talking. He’s been pretty damned patient with me, and he let me take lead…_

Considering the wording of the last phrase, Renji’s mind moved on from their investigation to the lesson scheduled later that night. Would the man simply stand back and issue commands in his general direction, or –

_Will he dance with me? Come to think of it, which one of us will be the ‘guy’ if he does?_

As the heavy soles of his boots scuffed along the pavement, he mulled their ‘arrangement’ over further. The redhead was taller, broader of shoulder and more imposingly masculine than the elegant noble; surely that counted for something?

_On the other hand, one look from him makes me weak in the knees; we both know who wears the pants in this relationship. Although…he didn’t put up much of a fuss when I manhandled him earlier; maybe he likes it when someone else takes charge?_

Renji’s imagination threatened to spin out of control at the possibilities. He narrowly avoided a collision with a telephone pole, shaking his head as his other head expressed its interest in his burgeoning fantasies.

“I gotta get it together,” he grumbled at his hair-trigger libido, “or I’m gonna blow it; the last thing I need is to fuck this up again.”

The tattooed man’s gait slowed to a standstill as he squinted at a garish, oversized neon sign adorning a pizzeria.

“Speakin’ a getting’ things together…where the hell am I?”

A door opened ahead and a tall, snowy-haired man set a recycling bin out on the curb.

“Oh, hey, Ukitake-sensei!”

“Abarai-kun!” Juushirou straightened and waved with a grin. “Right on time, I see.”

“Eh?” Renji closed the distance, pushing his sunglasses up over his forehead with his free hand.

“Kuchiki-keibu mentioned you’d be early when he phoned,” Ukitake explained, opening the dance studio’s front door.

“Course he did,” the redhead groaned. _How the fuck does Captain do that?_

“Nice to see some things haven’t changed,” the older man laughed, patting the lieutenant on the back as he ushered him inside.

“Dear God,” Renji shook his head, trying to decide if a clairvoyant Kuchiki boded ill for him, “he’s always been like this?”

“Oh yes,” Juushirou affirmed, “but with a shorter temper. Would you care for a tour?”

“Um, sure. You’re not too busy?”

“You flatter me, Abarai-kun. I teach a few private lessons during the day, but mostly I run group sessions in the evenings.”

“Ah.” Renji bit his lip. “Not the most lucrative business?”

“No, not at all,” the instructor smiled, “but it brings me joy. Would you like to put that in the refrigerator?”

“Nah, I’m almost done,” the redhead peered down at the bag of remaining snacks. “Mind if I munch?”

“I wouldn’t dream of coming between a young man and his food.”

“Sorry. I know it’s kinda weird, but the morgue vapors always stoke my appetite.”

“Shunsui had a similar response,” Ukitake reminisced, guiding them around the main dance floor, “though a fair amount of sake preceded most of his improvised meals.”

“Heh,” Renji chuckled, “I have a hard time imagining him working a case.”

“As did he,” Juushirou sighed, “which is why being Chief Superintendent suits him so well.”

“Ouch. Did you guys train together?”

“Yes, we were early graduates at the Academy,” Ukitake paused by a large, mirror-backed display case. “After working Homicide for many years, Shunsui was promoted… and I decided to teach recruits basic psychology instead.”

“Hmm.” Renji swallowed the last of his mochi and checked his reflection in the mirror. “Were you partners?”

Ukitake’s deep brown eyes sparkled. “Professionally, no.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant paused, then sputtered as the implication hit him. “Oh!”

“Fear not, Abarai-kun,” an amused Juushirou counseled. “We old fogies haven’t forgotten what it is like to be in love. Workplace romances happen…and are likely to happen again, from what I hear?”

Renji went as red as a tomato.

“Please forgive my forwardness,” Ukitake supplicated, searching the younger man’s face. “But you needn’t worry; Shunsui and I have no secrets from each other, but we will be discreet about your situation unless you instruct us to do otherwise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the tattooed man groaned. “I could probably take out a billboard and shout it through a megaphone and he wouldn’t necessarily acknowledge it.”

“Now, now, don’t despair. If anyone can get through to Bya-kun, it will be you; that much is clear even to me.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” Renji admitted. _I sure as hell hope you’re right._ “Howd’ya know Captain, anyway? From the Academy?”

“Oh, no,” Ukitake scratched at the back of his neck, sliding his hair over his shoulder. “He was my last Lieutenant before I retired from active duty.”

The blank look on the tattooed face made the dance instructor laugh.

“Contrary to popular opinion, Bya-kun did not spring from the earth fully formed as a Police Captain.”  

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse,” Renji confessed with a sigh.

“It should serve as an example that we can learn from each other, regardless of how different we may be.”

The redhead considered the kind words, and the gentle man before him.

“So…I don’t mean to pry,” the younger man inquired, “but how’d you end up with his studio?”

A wisp of sadness clouded Ukitake’s earnest expression. “I’ll tell you what I know, for what it’s worth. Come; allow me show you something.”

The white-haired man moved to the center of the display case, where an impressive trove of trophies and framed photographs stared back at the two men. It took a moment for Renji’s sharp crimson eyes to scan the plaques before the common thread became clear.

“Holy shit - these are all his,” the lieutenant whispered reverently.

“Well, I think his partner Halibel-chan would remind you that these were not solo achievements… but, yes; here you see all of their national trophies, as well as the commemoratives for three of the international expositions they performed in.”

“Damn.” Renji exhaled. “I figured he was good, because, well, he’s just like that, but…wow.”

They stood before the collection of silver and crystal with solemnity befitting a memorial.  

_I’d be proud as hell…and I bet he was, too. Why would he leave all of this behind?_

Mulling that conundrum over, he let his attention drift towards the photos of varying ages further along the display. A yellowing composition caught his eye, and he squinted at the faces therein.

“Is that-“

“Kuchiki Soujun, Byakuya’s father,” Ukitake gestured to the familiar, yet not, face smiling back at them. “A college friend, and the original owner of this establishment.”

Renji leaned in, studying the figure more closely. At first glance, the man was indistinguishable from his son; on further review, Soujun’s limpid, unguarded eyes and warm smile were both inviting and utterly foreign amidst the otherwise Kuchiki features.

“Was he a cop?” The redhead wondered.

“Far from it,” Juushirou crossed his arms, a contemplative look gracing his features. “He was an artist and a poet; this place was his labor of love.”

Ukitake glanced at the man beside him and went on. “Soujun dropped dead when Bya-kun was five years old; the boy inherited the studio, as his mother had succumbed to cancer the year before.”

“Fuck.” Renji swore quietly, lips pursed.

“I was one of a small group of instructors that taught here before Soujun’s death; we continued on at the family’s behest, expecting to keep the place occupied until Byakuya was old enough to take over.”

The redhead’s curious eyes continued to sweep the memorabilia, noting the dates inscribed. “He must not have taught here for very long.”

“Officially, he didn’t teach here at all. Byakuya and Halibel competed as amateurs, as do most young dancers. He did some free instruction here, but mostly served to drum up business.”

“I’m having a hard time envisioning Kuchiki-keibu’s sales pitch, Sensei,” the lieutenant admitted with a smirk.

“Bya-kun didn’t need one,” Ukitake smiled. “The lure of sighting a national champion here was enough to fill our coffers; I’m slightly ashamed to admit that we’d let students get ‘lost’ on occasion, allowing them to wander down to the practice room and moon over our local celebrity.”

“Heh,” the young man chuckled, “I betcha that went over big.”

“Oh, yes,” Juushirou grinned sheepishly, “the temper tantrums that followed were further free entertainment, and discouraged most of his fans from trying to sneak in again.”

“Did you teach him how to dance?”

“Sadly, no. Bya-kun had little need of my help, either in ballroom or back at headquarters; they employed a private coach for training,” the elder explained. “I considered myself a source of emotional support…thus, he had little need for me, period.”

“I guess some things really haven’t changed, eh,” Renji summarized with a sigh.

A comfortable silence fell between them, which the tattooed man soon punctuated with a sudden intake of breath.

“Why did he leave?”

The question had been eating at him since his first glimpse of the Kuchiki family photo album the previous week; Rukia wasn’t able to fill in much detail, as she’d joined the family a few years afterwards and didn’t have the gumption to ask her brother for further details. The petite beauty had herself only recently been made aware of the pictures, having received the album as a gift…or peace offering…in the aftermath of Aizen’s disappearance.

_“It’s like everything else in that house, Renji,” she’d admitted over lunch. “More pictures of Hisana are great, but every piece of information I get prompts ten times more questions than it answers. I know the studio and the people in these photos are important to Nii-sama, but I don’t think he’s ready to talk about it…at least not with me.”_

_“I have to wonder,” Rukia continued, “if that’s why he wanted to take you there. I think he’s trying to reach out to you, Renji; you’re closer to him than anyone else.”_

Even now, as he stood staring at clues of his superior’s past, Renji was torn; he wanted, more than anything, to be _that person_ , the one that the stoic man would finally open up to, to matter as much to Byakuya as the other meant to him. However, the lieutenant couldn’t deny that if he was wrong…if all of his well-wishers were incorrect, that his inquisitiveness could permanently extinguish the burgeoning warmth in their relationship.

“Abarai-kun,” Ukitake’s sigh jarred Renji out of his thoughts, “while I agree that’s an important question, it’s not for me to answer.”

The redhead let his eyes drop, chewing on his lip partly in embarrassment, partly in disappointment.

“Do you know what MacGuffin is?” Juushirou asked suddenly.

“Um…”

“Have you heard of Alfred Hitchcock, at least?” The older man teased mildly.

“Yes,” Renji replied with a huff and a frown.

 “As a master of suspense,” Ukitake went on calmly, “he made good use of plot devices, like stolen objects or state secrets, that were less important in themselves than in what they motivated the characters of the films to do to get them. Loosely, such objects came to be known as MacGuffin.”

“Oh.”

The redhead’s absent expression goaded Juushirou on further. “What I am trying to say is that the event that you’re curious about is like MacGuffin; the details of Byakuya’s past are less important than the fact that he may be willing, perhaps even desirous, to discuss them with you.”

“I see.” Renji’s frown evened out to a pensive expression as he crumpled his empty snack bag. “I’m glad to hear that, I guess. I just need to figure out how to get there without screwing things up in the process.”

“And you will, son,” Ukitake patted his back again. “You’ve been learning from one of the finest detectives I ever met, and we both know it isn’t hard to get a confession from someone who wants to talk.”

“I dunno,” the young man muttered, “I swear Captain knows what I’m thinking before I do.”

“I can’t confirm or deny that,” the snowy-haired man mentioned with a small smile, “but as long as your intentions are good, I think you’ll be fine. As I said the other night, it helps not to overthink things.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sensei.” Renji sighed, eyes closing briefly.

“Well, what a terrible tour I’m giving!” Juushirou laughed, stepping away from the case. “Let’s move along, shall we?”

Renji allowed himself to be marshaled around the well-worn dance floor, through the lounge in the back and down a dimly-lit staircase. Blocky linoleum floors and peeling, likely-leaden paint cloaked the hallway leading to a locked door in the basement. Cinnamon eyes roved over cobwebs and fading antique concert posters while the proprietor fussed with the recalcitrant deadbolt.

The weathered wooden door swung open with a creak; there was a distinct lag between the switches being flipped on and when aged fluorescent bulbs flickered to life.

“Welcome to the top-secret practice space!”

Renji took a few steps forward, impressed at the open expanse of hardwood floor flanked by mirrored walls, themselves bisected by a lightly-stained barre running the width of the room.

“Nice.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Ukitake murmured. “If I may be so bold, I’d like to give you these.”

Long fingers extracted a pair of keys from a crowded ring and extended them towards the detective. “The brass key opens the door we just passed through, the silver the door at the top of the stairs that exits onto the alley.”

“M-me? Why?” Renji’s eyes widened while he accepted the keys.

“As you can see, the room hasn’t seen use in quite a while,” Juushirou gestured to the subterranean studio. “I have it on good authority that you’ll be receiving some private instruction, and I wanted to extend an open invitation to use this space.”

“Really?” The redhead blinked at the metal shapes resting on his open palm. “That’s awfully generous of you, Ukitake-sensei.”

“I have ulterior motives,” Ukitake grinned broadly, “not the least of which is that in some endeavors, privacy is essential to making progress, ne?”

Renji unleashed his own lopsided smile. “Sure couldn’t hurt.”

“That reminds me…your Captain asked a favor of me.”

“Oh?”

They abandoned the practice room again, meandering back up to the aged couch situated in the sitting room at the back of the main studio. Renji flopped onto the sofa as Ukitake wheeled out a cart bearing an older, top-heavy television with a tape-deck within.

“Bya-kun wanted to be sure you had enough time to watch the assigned dance competitions from the previous week. Comfortable?”

“Oh yeah,” the tattooed man sighed. _Figures Kuchiki-keibu knew I hadn’t watched it yet._

“Fear not; I think you’ll find this most illuminating,” the older man mused as he inserted a DVD into the more modern device below the hulking T.V.

Renji suddenly remembered the similar amused look that graced his superior’s face at the mention of said recording.

_He said something about Spandex, right?_

 

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	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises abound for Renji, both during the official 'lesson' and beyond...though he has a few new moves in store for his captain. Beta'd by leila-blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: food porn, self-service.

_Compression, Chapter Eleven_

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Three hours later, Renji’s head was swimming.

He’d made it through International Latin, International Standard, East Coast Swing, Mambo, Bolero…and started seeing stars, both literally and figuratively. The weary redhead couldn’t tell the difference between a regular Waltz and the Viennese Waltz, nor could he ascertain what made the champions stand out from the runners-up, but he was certain of one thing.

_I am really, really glad that I’m a dude._

Renji solemnly swore to never make casual mention of Spandex…or sequins....or eye shadow ever again.

_How anybody could be gussied up like that and still move, much less dance, is completely beyond me._

He confined his thoughts to the women’s wardrobes as his fellow students filed in for the night’s class; imagining Fox-trotting in a tuxedo was simply too much to be borne. The tattooed man regarded neckties as a means of strangulation, or perhaps an alluring alternative to handcuffs – but not acceptable attire when attempting to connect with one’s hips.

Renji’s surveying eyes spotted his own discarded tie, peeking innocently out of his coat pocket at the back of the rack; he wondered what the red silk would look like fastened securely around pale, blue-veined wrists and bit his lip as he glanced at the clock.

Five minutes.

Kuchiki-keibu was never late for anything; the man had five minutes to make an entrance, or the world would surely tilt off its axis. The lieutenant scanned the front windows again restlessly.

_He wouldn’t stand me up. Even if he didn’t wanna come, he’d sooner commit seppuku than go back on his word…and he’s way too particular to be late…unless some serious shit is going down. Even then, though, he’d call me. Wouldn’t he?_

_When did I turn into a fucking schoolgirl?_

Renji scowled, staring out into the dark street and absently noting the white noise of twittering young women and whispering couples in the background.

“Good evening.”

Two words spoken in a voice thick and rich as honey sent shivers down his spine. Renji spun on his heel, making no effort to hide a relieved smile.

“Hey, Captain,” he grinned, taking in the immaculate man in his three-piece charcoal gray suit. “When did you sneak in?”

“I do not sneak, Abarai.” Byakuya’s tone was dry, but his eyes were lit in amusement. “How was your afternoon?”

“Fantastic; it was great to get out into the sun.” Renji noted the faint dark circles wreathing his superior’s eyes, betraying otherwise well-concealed fatigue. “Thanks, again.”

The older man had barely nodded when Ukitake’s cheerful proclamation started the lesson.

“Abarai.”

Byakuya’s voice had dropped to a whisper, which prompted the redhead to lean in.

“I will be watching you to determine what we should focus on afterwards.”

Renji remained still, breathing in the beloved scent that cancelled out all other thoughts. At some length he noticed the inspector looking at him, patiently waiting.

“Oh, right. That’s fine,” the lieutenant finally mustered, not yet willing to remove himself from the other’s personal space.

“Very well.” Byakuya stepped back, moving across the ballroom with typical feline grace.

It was only when the large circle of couples re-formed, and the detectives faced each other, that Renji processed the content of their exchange.

_Hell yeah, I want your eyes on me._

Though an inexperienced dancer, the resilient redhead was accomplished at submerging his insecurities; he felt the thrilling weight of Byakuya’s gaze and summoned every ounce of bravado in his possession. Even the exacting Ise Nanao stood smiling in his arms, pleased at his splendid posture.

“Oh, hey,” he smiled sheepishly as he became aware of the other people in the room. “Sorry, your phone was so quiet I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Very funny,” she sniffed, arching an eyebrow. “Kyouraku-keishi-chō promised not to harass me this time, as long as I vowed to dance only with you or the Kotetsu sisters.”

“Wait…” Renji faked offence, “does that mean I’m ‘safe’?”

“Oh, but aren’t you?” Nanao’s tone was sweet, but her expression wicked as she transformed a turn into an opportunity to peek at Byakuya.

“Gah, stop it!” The redhead hissed, now genuinely affronted. “Don’t be so obvious!”

“Isn’t ‘obvious’ the new strategy?” The straight-laced secretary posited.

“What, is the entire… _freaking_ …police force in on this?!?” Renji attenuated his choice of words, but was unable to keep the vein in the center of his forehead from bulging ominously.

“Sometimes it takes a village, Abarai. One would think you’d be grateful to have such supportive co-workers.”

The tattooed man adjusted his grip, situating his right hand below the young lady’s scapula.

“That’s what this is? Supportive?” Renji grumbled.

“While it’s entertaining to watch you two dance around the subject, no pun intended,” Nanao declared, “the rest of us can only bear the tension for so long.”

Both pivoted into open position.

“Let me guess; there’s an office pool going,” Renji rolled his eyes as he brought his partner back to face him with a hint of awkwardness.

“Such a thing would be in direct violation of departmental policy,” Ise rattled off crisply.

“Right.” The redheaded pineapple paused. “What’re my odds?”

Renji rocked back on his left foot as Nanao mirrored his action, their arms extending.

“You really want to know?” Her countenance betrayed nothing.

“Uh, yeah,” he managed as they moved together.

“The betting’s mostly shifted from if to when, with wagers ranging from days to months,” the demure woman reported with a smirk, which widened into a knowing smile as the brawny man’s cheeks flushed.

“He’s gonna kill me,” Renji realized, though a blissful grin still held sway over his face.

“Nonsense; Kuchiki-keibu will have some choice words for the offending parties-“

“And then he’ll kill me.”

“I hardly think he’d go to such lengths, considering how he favors you, Abarai-keibu-ho.”

“Favors?” Renji rolled the word around in his mouth, attempting to let it sink in as the piece of music came to a close. “More like I’m lucky he’s a law-abiding citizen.”

He allowed himself a quick peek at his superior, whose eyes met his before guiding a purple-haired girl into a turn as final bars of the song faded away.

Nanao peered at the distant Kuchiki, then back at the painted man as he released her. “Will you two be dancing together next week?”

“Um, wouldn’t that be kinda rude, considerin’ we’re the only unattached guys here?” Renji silently congratulated himself at sidestepping the core of the question…until the young woman flashed another smile.

“I take it that’s a yes, as you’re rather attached to him already?”

_‘Rather attached?’ More like totally fucking obsessed._

The redhead’s eyes slipped shut as he shook his head. “He’s so gonna kill me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Nanao patted his arm before moving on to her next partner. “Good luck.”

Renji greeted Isane absently, watching as Byakuya gave a shallow bow of greeting to one of the green-coiffed girls that turned out to be Nel. The rest of the lesson went by in a blur, the tension between his shoulder blades, a dull throb in his lower back, and wayward strands of sweaty hair adhering to his neck growing more irritating by the minute.  It was only the absence of music that alerted him to the end of the lesson; the tall man looked around, noting the dispersion of coeds as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He popped the collar button next and spun with a squeak on his boot heel; Ukitake-sensei stood by the front door, bidding his pupils farewell as a few stragglers retrieved their coats.

_Where the hell did Captain go?_

Continuing to scan his surroundings, the lieutenant untied the bandana and elastic barely holding his hair at bay, shaking back the damp crimson mane. After a brief attempt to card through it with his calloused fingers, Renji divided his locks roughly into thirds and tamed them into a haphazard braid. Horrified at the sweat staining his underarms, he tied the plait off quickly and hid the fly-aways with a black kerchief as his pocket vibrated.

Renji fished out his cell phone with one hand as the other pulled the bandana into place, now situated more for perspiration control than to hide his tattooed forehead from the general public. He swiped his index finger across the screen and blinked at the text.

_Byakuya: Meet downstairs in ten minutes._

“Oh,” Renji announced to the nearly empty room, a bit too relieved to be embarrassed by talking to himself. He read the message again, now noticing the timestamp. “Sent five minutes ago? What cave are you texting from?”

“Reception is often poor on this block,” Ukitake offered as he walked past, pocketing his keys. “The skyscrapers rendered the new signal towers moot, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” the redhead repeated, staring blankly at his phone. “Um, is there a restroom I can use?”

“Across from the top of the stairs,” Juushirou pointed to the rear of the building. “Do lock the back door when you’re done tonight, but you’ve got the run of the place until then. Good night, Abarai-kun.”

“Thanks, Ukitake-sensei.”

Renji’s feet found their way to the lavatory while his stomach roiled mercilessly. He splashed his face with cold water and gave himself a brief once-over, noting his marginally confined hair and the way the black headscarf and dress shirt made his tattoos stand out more vividly on a backdrop of tanned skin.

_Come on, Ren, don’t choke now._

With one last mop of his brow, Renji backed away from the sink and pushed open the door, moving through the dimly lit hall, down aged stairs and towards the practice space he’d discovered a few hours earlier. He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh, cool air introduced from the alleyway and…

…paused, sniffing again in confusion.

_Pizza?_

The lieutenant stepped forward, hand closing around the smooth oval knob on the door. “Well, duh, they make ‘em right next door…”

Renji turned the handle and persuaded the aged wooden slab to permit him entry, sniffing again as the scent of provolone and oregano grew stronger. Auburn eyes quickly found newly-placed furniture in the form of folding chairs and two weathered tables set out in a non-mirrored corner; one surface supported a large stereo system, complete with gramophone, the other a number of cardboard boxes and aluminum take-out tins.

His stomach rumbled loudly, terminating in a high-pitched squeal that echoed exuberantly through the brightly-lit studio.

“It seems I arrived just in time.”

An amused Kuchiki-keibu materialized alongside him. Renji turned to face him with eyes wide as saucers and saliva pooling threateningly at the corners of his mouth.

“Y-you bought me dinner?” The younger man gaped.

“I secured supper for us _both_ , if you would be willing to relinquish a slice.” A near-smirk graced aristocratic features.

Renji couldn’t manage to scrape his chin off the floor.

“Your concentration is next to nil on an empty stomach, Abarai,” Byakuya explained patiently, concern finding its way into his tone. “Is this…not to your liking?”

At that, the lieutenant snapped out of his stupor.  “N-no, it’s…it’s fucking awesome.”

Renji stopped again, unwilling to struggle against the emotion tightening his throat. Almost of its own volition, one of his arms found its way around the puzzled inspector as the lieutenant stole a few quick, steadying breaths.

_Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?_

Vaguely aware of having accosted his superior _again_ , Renji reluctantly turned away from the feast to regard the surprisingly pliant form in his grasp; Byakuya’s wide, worried eyes, knitted brows and an adorable frown made his heart skip.

The silence between them stretched to an ungainly length as they stared at each other.

Biting his lip, Renji watched as Byakuya’s expression grew guarded - if more familiar – as slender eyebrows rose in question.

“I must admit,” the quiet noble mustered, “this wasn’t the reaction I anticipated.”

The redhead opened his mouth to speak, but was drowned out by a gurgle erupting from his midsection.

“That, on the other hand,” Byakuya’s eyelids drooped with mirth, “was in line with my expectations. Sit down and eat, Abarai.”

“Yes, sir,” Renji smiled, giving the sinewy shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

The tall, brawny man stalked over to the spread, flipping open the boxes and prying the lids from the tins before stuffing napkins and plastic cutlery into a back pocket. Smacking his lips, Renji returned to the first box of pizza with scarcely-concealed excitement.

“Pineapple, red onion and ham,” the younger man hummed, picking up two pieces and folding them together. “Gifts of the gods.”

Renji bit in, eyes closing as his salivary glands surged to life to welcome the still-too-hot amalgam of sweet and savory into his mouth. He pulled the slices away reflexively to stretch the strands of smoky cheese to the point of breaking, catching the tendrils of tomato-stained mozzarella and provolone with a nimble tongue. It wasn’t until he’d finished the crust and gone after the rivulets of salty fruit juice running down his wrist that his cinnamon eyes fully opened again; the tattooed man was licking his forearm clean as he turned toward the silent figure to his right.

There stood Byakuya, suit and tie impeccable, holding a small plate of antipasto in one hand while the other suspended a fork-skewered pepperoncini in mid-air. Renji lapped at his own palm as he met wide, unblinking gray eyes that took in his every move.

“Why ain’tcha eatin’?”

The inspector blinked, opened his mouth to speak…then shut it again as a hint of color infused his face.

_Oh._ For once, Renji kept the mischievous grin from his face as he sensed control of the situation settling thoroughly in his grasp. _You like what you see? All right, then…_

“Sorry ‘bout my manners,” the redhead admitted with a coy smile, “but it’s just _so damned good_.”

Renji reached blindly for two more slices, unwilling to take his eyes off the flustered visage of his superior.

“Hawaiian’s my favorite,” the lieutenant took a big bite, purposefully ignoring the speck of pizza sauce adhering to the corner of his mouth. “But you knew that, right?”

Byakuya failed to respond; Renji rewarded his attention with a deliberate swipe of his tongue to the tomato sauce staining his face, smirking as the noble’s blush deepened.

“So good…nngh,” the tattooed man repeated, groaning and letting his eyelids droop with the next mouthful. He peeked between long lashes, feeling heat flood his own face as his captain’s jaw dropped almost imperceptibly.

Renji continued in his deliberately messy repast, moaning on occasion and practically coating his hand in a viscous mixture of pizza sauce and pineapple juice. Byakuya’s unguarded and thoroughly distracted expression goaded him on and aroused him past the point of comfort.

_While I’m at it, might as well pull out all the stops._

Laving his wrist and palm with deliberate strokes of his tongue, claret eyes fell on a small unopened tub of marinara sauce. Renji set aside the pizza crusts for a moment, focusing on sucking each long finger into his mouth one at a time, teeth grazing the pads and lips pursing to produce a loud, wet _pop_ as he pulled the digits away. 

The redhead sidled towards the table, pleased to see his superior standing stock-still and with eyes trained on him. Renji smiled at the pickled pepper that remained untouched on Byakuya’s fork, and pried the foil lid off the sauce with a teasing arch of a tattooed brow.

“Secret’s in the sauce,” the lieutenant grinned, one crust poised over the marinara.

Eyeing the older man and realizing that Byakuya was literally watching him with bated breath, Renji submerged the dough as deeply as possible…this was necessary to keep his captain from succumbing to asphyxia, after all. Duly resigned to his duty, the redhead raised the crust to hover before his lips and looked his superior squarely in the eye.

Angling his head to maintain eye contact Renji extended his tongue, licking the pizza crust slowly from bottom to top, sampling sauce with the tip.

Byakuya’s eyes darkened, platinum orbs now overshadowed by raging, thundercloud gray.

Flicking the marinara-drenched bread with the pointed tip of his tongue again, Renji opened his mouth wide before closing his lips around the crust and slowly suckling the end. He eased the bread in slowly, pressing it against the inside of his cheek which bulged outwards in an obscene fashion, swallowing frequently as his saliva coated the surface.

The pizza crust was practically lodged in his throat when he paused to watch the Kuchiki’s lips press into a thin line, pleased to see his Adam’s apple bob restlessly. Despite his ministrations, Renji’s mouth was parched with anticipation as well, and he ignored the insistent throb of his groin as he contemplated his next move.

Deliberately batting his eyes, Renji drew the crust out completely before swallowing it down again with a moan. Byakuya inhaled sharply, long fingers threatening to snap his fork in two. Massaging the dough with the flat of his tongue, the redhead belatedly assessed the situation, sorting the needs from the wants.

What he wanted was to pin the sable-haired beauty beneath him on the dance floor.

What he _needed_ , if he planned on surviving the night, keeping his job, or seducing his beloved properly, was to beat a hasty retreat.

Renji withdrew the pizza crust with something nearing regret, bestowing a last lick along its length before tossing it in the trash – he couldn’t _bite_ the damned thing now, after all – and running his tongue slowly over his lips.

“I’m…gonna go…freshen up.”

The redhead was already at the threshold, unable to remain still and afford his inspector the opportunity to reply to his pathetic excuse for escaping. Renji took the stairs two at a time, wondering at how quickly his confidence had evaporated as he slid into the bathroom and locked the door.

He avoided the mirror, unbuckling his belt and working the zipper of his trousers open as he stalked over to the commode. Bracing himself with a hand against the aged wallpaper above the tank, Renji freed his turgid length and finished with mortifyingly few strokes, gasping as he released into the bowl.

“Fuck,” he shuddered, head bowed and legs trembling slightly.

Grabbing at the nearby roll of toilet paper, the tattooed man wiped away the evidence of his ‘freshening up,’ flushed and tucked himself back in. He opened the small, leaden-glass window as he washed his hands, hoping the inrush of arctic air would dispel the heady scent that filled the room. It was only when he finished drying off that Renji looked at his reflection, noting the bright crimson of his cheeks and the wisps of hair that had escaped his braid.

“How the hell do I go back down there now?” The lieutenant frowned and slumped, nearly head-butting the mirror as he sighed. “I can’t _not_ go back…”

_I can’t just walk out again; I got myself into this mess, and now I’ve gotta face the music._

_Way to go, Abarai, always thinking with your dick._

Renji straightened and looked himself over again, a weird little grin gracing his angular face.

_On the other hand, I totally got to him. No matter what he says, now I know he isn’t indifferent to me... though it’ll probably take a lot more than food porn to make him give in…_

“Aw, hell,” he shrugged to himself, unlocking the door and turning off the light, “At least I still get to dance with my boss.” _If he’s willing to let me near him after that little stunt!_

Taking the stairs a bit more slowly than during the last ascent, Renji took a deep breath as he neared the basement studio.

_Here we go._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji receives private tutoring. Beta'd by leila-blue.

 

_Compression, Chapter Twelve_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_Renji straightened and looked himself over again, a weird little grin gracing his angular face._

_On the other hand, I totally got to him. No matter what he says, now I know he isn’t indifferent to me... though it’ll probably take a lot more than food porn to make him give in…_

_“Aw, hell,” he shrugged to himself, unlocking the door and turning off the light, “At least I still get to dance with my boss.” If he’s willing to let me near him after that little stunt!_

_Taking the stairs a bit more slowly than during the last ascent, Renji took a deep breath as he neared the basement studio._

_Here we go._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

 

 

Renji crept through the door with as much stealth as his tall, muscular frame could manage.

He sighed with relief at the placid form standing before the phonograph, more than a little surprised at not having scared the quiet man off. The redhead was about to say as much when he took a closer look and paused.

Byakuya had frozen in the middle of perusing the well-worn records, tired eyes unfocused and with an air of melancholy shrouding him. Renji clenched his fists subconsciously, the sight of the normally proud patrician so sorrowful… so _alone_ …made him sick, made him want to break something – mostly his own jaw - for having been such a boor.

“Abarai.”

The inspector turned to face him, all trace of emotion erased, posture effectively dispelling the illusion of vulnerability and loneliness. Renji’s sudden surge of self-loathing sputtered but took its time to fade.

_Dammit, you don’t have to hide from me!_

“Feeling better?” The captain inquired, expression unreadable.

“Loads,” the lieutenant finally breathed, pursing his lips in a forceful sigh as he mastered his temper.

“Is that so?” Byakuya’s eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief. “You’ve been behaving strangely all day.”

Renji prepared to protest but caught himself. _Well, I guess groping you repeatedly, blowing inanimate objects and_ _jerking off in a dance studio is kinda strange, even for me._

“Yeah,” the redhead admitted obliquely, “things’ve been gettin’ to me today.”

The noble nodded, accepting the offered explanation, but Renji felt oddly emboldened to go on.

“Come to think of it,” the tattooed man continued, “you look pretty worn out yourself.”

Byakuya sighed, gaze returning to the records in his hands. “Things have been…getting to me, as well.”

“Mmh.” Renji was torn, wanting to push the other to open up further, yet somewhat shocked at the uncharacteristic admission of…well… _anything._ “We don’t hafta do this, ya know.”

“I find this a welcome diversion, actually.”

As he looked through the vinyl collection, a curtain of silky obsidian hair had fallen to shield the captain’s face from his subordinate’s curious gaze; Renji found himself cursing – temporarily – the very tresses that he wanted to run his hands through, to muss, to _pull._ His mouth threatened to go dry again.

“We’ll begin when your appetite has been appropriately appeased,” the Kuchiki declared quietly, though the redhead could hear the humor in the smooth baritone.

_Well, my appetite for food, at least._ “Fair enough,” Renji managed, approaching the feast with less flourish than during the initial conquest. He was reaching for the bottom box of pizza when he glanced at Byakuya’s nearly untouched plate. “Is that all you’re gonna eat?”

The older man turned to him, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. “I shall consider trying again, if you will refrain from playing with your food.”

“Heh,” the vice-captain chuckled sheepishly, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

_I don’t think either one of us will look at pizza the same way again._

Renji didn’t fight the stupid grin; he’d been vacillating between libidinous bliss and agitated depression _all damned day_ and the former felt a hell of a lot better…and seemed to worry his superior less.

_Still, at least I can own up to what I’m feeling – I don’t know how you bottle everything up all the time._

_“Your feelings do you credit, Abarai…in this partnership, one ice princess is enough.”_

Renji snorted, loudly, unable to stop another guffaw as he recalled their conversation from earlier that day; Byakuya moved to look over his shoulder into the pizza box.

“I find them more entertaining when you wield them,” the older man murmured as they stared at the untouched slices within.

“Glad to hear it,” the redhead chirped with a cheerful leer, resisting the shiver Byakuya’s proximity prompted and smile brightening at the arched eyebrow his reply garnered.

“Please have a seat,” the dapper man beckoned and Renji acquiesced, carefully cradling a full plate as he felt into the chair.

The younger man waited until the other made inroads through his own meal before inquiring, “So, what’re we workin’ on tonight?”

“Fundamentals,” Byakuya offered, before biting into a chunk of cheese.

“I could use some help with the meringue,” Renji mumbled around a mouthful of philly-steak pizza, jaw clenching at the thought.

“We will eventually review the routines taught in class,” Kuchiki-keibu decided, “but need to lay a firm foundation first.”

“Kinda like workin’ a case?” The redhead mused, chewing.

“Precisely,” Byakuya agreed. “The principles of acquiring new skills are universal, no matter how disparate the subjects may be.”

“Cool,” Renji decided, somewhat more at ease in his typical role of pupil. He sank his teeth into warm dough as the older man nibbled at a black olive and looked him over appraisingly.

“Abarai, let me see your shoes.”

“Eh?” The lieutenant froze, a slice of pepper attempting to escape from his mouth.

By the time Renji successfully masticated and swallowed, the Kuchiki was kneeling at his feet. The redhead nearly choked on his own saliva.

“These boots,” Byakuya declared, lifting one of his subordinate’s feet with mild disdain, “are unacceptable.”

“What’s wrong with’em?” One inked eyebrow twitched skywards in perturbation.

“Non-slip soles,” a long finger indicated the offending chunky rubber tread, “while helpful for motorcycle operation, render ballroom dance impossible; the friction generated will thwart the smooth sliding motion you need to maneuver properly.”

“Oh.” Renji’s brow relaxed as his superior’s arched sharply.

“Did you really think I was criticizing your fashion sense, Abarai?”

“Well,” the redhead shrugged slightly, “stranger things have happened.”

“Not at my behest,” Byakuya insisted, scowling as he released a buckle.

“What’re ya doin’?” Renji blinked in disbelief as slender hands moved over his ankle and foot.

“I am removing your right shoe, Abarai,” the Kuchiki stated drily, “and then I will likely do the same with the left.”

The redhead composed a quick prayer to any available Gods and Buddhas that he chose matching, non-hole-laden socks when he dressed that morning. He then acknowledged the delightful feeling of cool hands gently cradling his stocking-feet, relieved to find unusually color-coordinated black socks with red and orange knitted flames clinging to his oversized appendages.

The older man looked up at him, and Renji was stunned by how the blue blood seemed completely comfortable in the position of supplicant, kneeling with his assistant’s feet resting in his lap.

“Um, thanks,” Renji croaked, not wanting the moment to end but acutely aware of what might happen if it didn’t.

“It is no trouble,” Byakuya dismissed the comment with a flick of his hair, setting the boots aside.

_Maybe not, but it’s really fucking hot._

“Uh, would you mind if I…?” The tattooed man trailed off, setting his plate aside and reaching for the top-most fastened button on his shirt.

“Not at all,” the Kuchiki allowed, scooting back and standing to brush off his pant-legs.

As if inspired by Renji’s suggestion, the inspector went to remove his suit-jacket as the redhead untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, draping it over the back of his chair. Standing to stretch and re-braid his hair, Renji smirked at Byakuya’s idea of ‘dressing down,’ noting the intact vest and unloosened cobalt-blue tie the other sported. His bandana was newly fastened before the lieutenant noticed his superior watching him closely.

Renji looked himself over as he stood there in flaming-sock feet, white cotton undershirt, black leather belt and black trousers, tribal tattoos festooning his chest and shoulders, and the blood-red curls of his underarms exposed. Byakuya’s eyes seemed to move against his will, lingering on swathes of ink and well-developed planes and crests of muscle.

Unable to fend off a cheeky grin, Renji winked at his captain. The Kuchiki’s eyes narrowed even as he endured a faint blush; the younger man congratulated himself at still being the taller of the two, even sans shoes, as the elder’s eyes drifted up to his messy coif. Byakuya reached into his vest pocket, withdrawing a couple of intricate metallic barrettes with which he clipped back his hair, save for a few strands that fell forward to obscure his left eye.

Renji blinked at the hair ornaments. _Where have I seen those before?_

The redhead racked his brain while Byakuya pulled out his phone to check the display, frowning. _He’s never worn them to work, I’m sure of that…but I could swear that I just saw them-_

_-_ _in the display case. He used to wear them for competitions._

Swallowing, Renji regained his composure while the inspector put his mobile away.

_I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you’re doing this for me…but I swear you won’t regret it, Captain. I won’t let you down._

“Expectin’ a call?” The redhead’s obliging mouth supplied, avoiding the questions his brain wanted to ask.

“Yes. Our suspects are being moved to a federal facility tonight,” Byakuya mentioned, hand pausing over the pocket holding his phone.

“Wow, already?” Renji blinked in genuine surprise. “That was fast.”

The older man nodded.

“That’s a good thing, right?” The lieutenant continued.

“Yes. Agent Hirako has been most obliging by accepting the transfer.”

“Eh, it’s not like they didn’t want them anyway,” Renji snorted dismissively. “To them, the Brothers Grimm are just a couple o’ small fry.”

“Abarai, they are to be material witnesses that may assist in dismantling an international crime syndicate,” Byakuya clarified, though he looked no more pleased than his subordinate.

“Yeah, but those little shits’ll be put into witness protection and shuffled off to some tropical fuckin’ paradise!” The redhead snapped, glaring at his feet.  “They’ll never even go to trial, and they’ll be living the fuckin’ high life…and gettin’ away with murder.”

“You are correct,” the noble admitted with a sigh, looking to his assistant whose eyes remained trained on the floor. “However, between that outcome and allowing them to remain here only to be assassinated in prison…”

“But who’s to say that Aizen won’t find ‘em wherever they are? Couldn’t be that hard for his underlings to pick’em off in transit.”

Renji raised his head in time to watch the hand hovering over Byakuya’s vest pocket clench, already-pale knuckles blanching momentarily.

“Oh shit,” the tattooed man exclaimed in realization. “Is that what’s gonna happen?”

“I am not a crystal ball, Abarai,” rebuked the inspector. “But I am concerned that something will go amiss.”

“Guess your spidey sense isn’t very specific?” Renji backpedalled, thumbing his belt.

“I am not Spiderman either,” Byakuya nearly hissed, eyes closing in annoyance, “but the feeling that commenced before the first call concerning this case has not yet ceased.”

“Sorry,” the redhead paused before taking a few tentative steps towards his superior. “M’not tryin’ to pester you.”

“I know.”

Byakuya remained still, allowing his lieutenant to approach him as one would a cornered wild animal. Pondering the distinctly non-feral man before him, Renji paused and resisted the urge to lay his hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” the Kuchiki decided, eyes resolutely shut and breathing slow, deliberate. “I am merely a bit out of sorts.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the younger man murmured, torn between fear and fascination at the sight. “Are you sure-“

“This is something that I must do.” Byakuya’s eyes snapped open and held his assistant’s gaze for a long moment.

“Okay. D’ya need a minute?”

“That will not be necessary,” the noble declared and stepped away, leaving Renji standing at an awkward attention and itching to move. “We ought to begin the tutorial now, or we will be up half the night.”

_Not that I’d mind_ , the redhead mused as Byakuya moved to the middle of the studio’s dance floor, _but you look like you ain’t been sleepin,’ and if it were left to me -_

Renji bit his tongue harder than he intended, emitting an unexpected yelp which caught the distracted inspector’s attention.

“What about the music?” The tattooed man wondered aloud when Byakuya gave him a curious look.

“That, too, is unnecessary at this time,” the Kuchiki announced, beckoning Renji to join him. “We will be devoting time to position and connection first.”

“Oh, you mean posture?”

“Yes and no, as there is more involved than simply standing up straight.” Byakuya paused. “Did you watch the competition videos today?”

“Yeah,” Renji admitted, paling at the memory.

“Of all the group dances therein, how many couples collided with each other?”

“Um, none,” the redhead searched his memory, staring at the ceiling, “unless I blacked out more than I thought. Pretty sure I’d remember that.”

“I am glad to hear that you remained cognizant for the duration,” Byakuya issued droll congratulations. “Do you recall any of the gentlemen’s costumes?”

Renji’s mouth opened, but as no sound issued forth, it closed promptly.

“This illustrates the role of lead; first, to guide one’s partner, primarily non-verbally, through often crowded and chaotic spaces; second, to remain transparent enough to showcase the other’s grace and beauty.”

“Got it,” the younger man announced. _With you, it shouldn’t be a problem._

“Another point worth mentioning,” Byakuya grasped his chin thoughtfully, “is that lessons and tournaments represent unrealistic scenarios, in that less is asked of the lead when both partners are following a routine which they have previously practiced. If you plan on dancing with your friends or other individuals without rehearsing with them first, you will need to invest substantial time in developing your skills beforehand.”

“Makes sense,” Renji nodded. “So…”

“We’ll start with the frame, which refers to upper-body positioning that connects you to your partner,” the noble explained. “If you would be so kind?”

The redhead swallowed and grasped Byakuya’s right hand in his left, positioning his other palm flat against the inspector’s back, just beneath the shoulder blade.

“Good. You might have noticed that this starting position varies depending on the type of dance performed, but this standard ballroom position is best to learn first.” The Kuchiki paused, waiting for his subordinate to nod before proceeding. “Now, indicate to me that you’ll be stepping straight back.”

“Um, you mean besides just telling you?”

“Yes, Abarai, using a method besides speech or telepathy.”

“Alright, alright,” Renji griped at the other’s sarcasm, “I’ll just…”

The taller man stepped back while nudging Byakuya towards him with his right hand, effectively pulling his superior along.

“That’s the right idea,” Byakuya assured him, “by carefully applying pressure you can indicate your intentions without having to literally drag your partner around. Give me your hands.”

Renji obediently released the blue blood, extending his hands uncertainly. Byakuya grasped them and laced their fingers together, the sight of alternating alabaster and bronzed flesh completely mesmerizing the redhead.

“Push me away,” the inspector commanded.

“Mmh?” Renji looked up, dazed.

“Abarai.”

“Oh, right,” the lieutenant came to at the peevish tone, sheepishly pressing against the other’s palms.

“Pull me back towards you,” Byakuya instructed; his subordinate soon complied, tugging the instructor back with such force that they almost collided.

“That,” the older man went on with a hint of humor, “was a demonstration, albeit an enthusiastic one, of how you will guide your partner. In standard ballroom dancing, however, rather than moving your arms, you will simply transmit the same forces through the frame.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Renji surmised, scratching at the damp hair under his bandana.

“Very well. This time, keep your arms stationary and impart your guidance by muscle tone only,” the noble suggested as they joined hands again. “Keep your upper body firm and poised but not rigid, like pushing a full shopping cart rather than arm wrestling.”

“You’re just afraid I’d win,” the tattooed man spouted with a grin as Byakuya glared.

“Hardly. Pull back.”

Renji did as instructed, pleased at the more orderly result.

“Good,” Byakuya commented, stepping back as the redhead did so.  “The generation of pull between yourself and your partner is sometimes referred to as tension.”

“Tension, right. Is there gonna be a quiz at the end?”

“Most definitely,” the Kuchiki declared, suppressing a smirk at Renji’s panicked visage. “Pushing towards one another is termed compression.”

“Compression is pushing towards,” Renji repeated, “tension is pulling away. Got it.”

The redhead took an experimental step forwards, transmitting his intention through their joined hands and beaming when Byakuya moved back in tandem.

“Very good, Abarai,” the elder complimented. “These are basic concepts, but are crucial to making it possible for your partner to follow your lead.”

“And avoid traffic accidents on the dance floor,” Renji supplied, to which Byakuya nodded. “Now what?”

“We’ll incorporate what you’re learning into a dance with only a modest amount of travel, so that you may practice. Shall we waltz?”

“I think I can handle that,” the tattooed man declared with much more confidence than he felt. “That’s the slower one, right?”

“Yes, less likely to produce motion sickness than the Viennese,” Byakuya offered with an almost-smile which settled the redhead’s nerves. “We’ll skip the music for now and simply move in a square, with travel occurring on ‘one.’ On the count of three…”

In mere moments, they were moving together.

Renji regretted the lack of music almost instantly, his heart drumming along to a degree that made him certain the other could hear it. Byakuya remained calm, counting aloud and ignoring the numerous times his feet were stepped on. There were no elaborate maneuvers, extraordinarily graceful sways nor turns; the redhead was content with describing the small shape and occasionally remembering to breathe.

All too soon the elocution ceased. It occurred to Renji that he ought to stop moving; it also occurred to him that he didn’t want the moment to end, and it had nothing to do with the improvement of his stilted steps.

The tattooed man slid his feet together before twisting and dipping an astonished Kuchiki Byakuya over his left thigh.   

Renji stared down into wide slate eyes; if a seductive smirk had found its way onto his face, he didn’t plan on fighting it. _Rangiku was right_ , he decided with gratitude for her patient instruction, _after practicing with her, anyone else is a breeze._

“Abarai.” There was no admonishment, only wonder.

“Sometimes I actually do my homework,” the redhead grinned, righting the older man and letting his fingers linger as they retreated.

“I will adjust my expectations accordingly,” Byakuya decided as he reigned in his surprise. “I believe we can now move on to another exercise.”

“Um, stupid question, but…seems to me like followin’s gotta be a lot easier than leadin.’”

Renji knew the instant the words left his mouth that he’d miscalculated; the wicked glint in the inspector’s steel eyes confirmed his fears.

“Is that so?” The taunting lilt sent chills up the lieutenant’s spine. “Let us test that hypothesis.”

Byakuya crooked his fingers in a come-hither gesture, and his subordinate had no choice but to slink forward in resignation.

“Oh shit,” Renji muttered, excitement, terror, and self-consciousness vying for control of his unsettled nerves.

“Have some faith, Abarai,” the Kuchiki threatened to smirk. “To the best of my knowledge, the tango has yet to claim a victim.”

“Tango? Shit!”

The flame-haired man’s panic was cut short by the shock of Byakuya’s authoritative grip; Renji couldn’t catch his breath, much less appreciate the subtleties of frame and footwork as the older man maneuvered him about the polished floor. The glimpses of their linked figures fleetingly caught in the mirrored walls made him lightheaded, and he took two unauthorized steps backward to steady himself.

“What are you doing?” The inspector queried despite looking unsurprised.

“Tryin’ not to fall,” Renji hissed, cheeks reddening.

“Ah. I thought you might be backleading ,” Byakuya explained as he pivoted, directing them parallel to the next wall.

“Backlead?”

“When the follower goes against or anticipates the leader. It is generally frowned upon,” the noble elaborated.

“Oh, like stealin’ the lead?” Renji managed, fighting the urge to look behind him as they stalked onwards, knees bent and upper bodies motionless.

“Precisely.”

They came to an abrupt halt, Byakuya spinning the taller man into a tight turn before whipping Renji back in, followed by a lightning-fast dip that left wayward tendrils of red hair brushing the floor.

“Oh my God.”

Renji wasn’t sure if he was addressing an invisible deity or the elegant man suspending him a literal hair’s breadth from the ground. As more blood rushed to his head, the full impact of being thus handled hit him suddenly; he was dizzy, embarrassed, and more than a little turned-on.

“As you can see,” the Kuchiki went on, looking down at the muscular man with amusement, “following requires superb balance, focus, and adaptability; it is every bit, if not more, difficult than leading the dance.”

“Uh, yeah,” the tattooed man agreed, staring at the petal-pink lips above him and contemplating their taste, and if they would be as soft as he imagined when pressed to his own. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

“I suppose I ought to take that as a compliment.” The blue blood cleared his throat as he brought his lieutenant back to an upright position, surveying the taller man from chaotic mane and reddened face to sock feet. “Would you like to continue?”

 “Y-yeah, just lemme get my bearings.” Renji shook his head repeatedly before patting back the destabilized plait barely keeping his hair at bay. “S’better than a roller coaster.”

Delicate eyebrows quirked upwards in question.

“I was just along for the ride,” Renji grinned as he blushed at the innuendo. “It’s amazin’…you make it look so easy.”

“After a great deal of practice,” Byakuya added. “And with time and discipline, you too can acquire the skill to do the same.”

“Dunno…you’re somethin’ else.”

The redhead’s lopsided smile brightened at the warmth in the other’s gaze. _One of these days, hopefully sooner than later, I’ll find the guts or balls to make you understand what I mean._

“Shall we work on hip motion next?”

Renji’s sexy smile twisted into a grimace. _This is going to get ugly._

A staccato cough escaped the Kuchiki scion, and the younger man clamped a hand over his own mouth.

“Shit. I said that out loud?” Renji mumbled into his fingers.

“Put yourself at ease, Abarai,” Byakuya’s command settled into a sigh. “I will not mock you or your efforts in improving your form.”

“Oh, I know, I…”the redhead paused and decided to put his discomfort aside. “Only one way to get better, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” the inspector encouraged. “We’ll start by facing the mirror.”

“Okay.” _Baby steps. I can do this._ “Now what?”

For what seemed like an eternity, Renji stared at his reflection as they coaxed the muscles of his abdomen, pelvis and thighs into action. _Distribute weight evenly on to both feet, then on one, let the hip shift up and out as one knee straightens and the other bends, step, repeat._ First to the left, then to the right, a few minutes spent marching in place as both hips were reluctantly swaying in time to the music in his head.

“Much better,” Byakuya decided, peering at both the tattooed man and his reflected image. “Your next homework assignment will be to practice in front of a mirror at home, eight counts left, eight counts right, then sixteen bilateral, and repeat. You may find that you favor one side, but be diligent in balancing your activity at this stage so that your movement is symmetric.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Renji exhaled and grinned, the burgeoning soreness in his torso and legs overwhelmed by relief. “Guess I’m not hopeless after all.”

The Kuchiki turned with a tiny huff. “Of course not,” he chided, gliding towards the stereo.

The lieutenant padded over in stocking feet, watching the other unsheath a vinyl disc and turn on the record player.

“Talk about old school, sheesh,” Renji quipped, impressed that the ancient turntable could be coaxed into motion. “Where’d you find the dinosaur?”

“Exactly where I left it,” Byakuya admitted with a wistful sigh. “It is cumbersome, but the quality of the sound justifies the extra effort; I think you will find it helpful to _feel_ the music without the volume raised to ear-splitting levels.”

“Hmm.” The tattooed man peered over the other’s shoulder, recognizing the album. “We’re gonna work on the meringue next?”

“Yes. As it lacks the syncopation of other Latin dances, it is an excellent way to practice hip motion.”

“Cool.” Renji bit his lip, aware of his exhalation stirring the captain’s hair. “Um, am I gonna lead this time?”

“I suppose so,” Byakuya cast him a sidelong, demure glance, “if you are more comfortable with that arrangement.”

“Eh, um…sure,” the redhead stammered before summoning a bashful grin. “I don’t think my ‘balance, focus, and adaptability’ are up to the challenge right now.”

“Very well.”

The bare turntable continued to spin, but neither man moved. Renji had never seen the inspector’s almost-smile at such close proximity before, and the aloof Kuchiki didn’t seem to mind the invasion of his personal space, focus directed solely on the redhead and away from the record in his hands.

Renji found himself staring at the other’s mouth again, marveling at the enticing way Byakuya’s lips parted as he leaned forward. Soft puffs of breaths intermingled as the redhead reached over to lift the fine-boned jaw, stilling just before contact as the phone rang.

“Fuck!” Renji hissed at the timing and the near-collision of foreheads as both men jumped.

The detectives reached for their cells simultaneously, frowning at the dark displays and turning as one to the landline on the far wall of the studio. The lieutenant shoved his mobile into a back pocket with another string of quiet curses, watching his shaking superior move to interrupt the harsh trilling of the appliance.

Renji did a double-take, sure he was hallucinating as blood surged through his system and his reeling brain, though he reconsidered when a thin, tremulous hand lifted the receiver.

_Whoa, what?_

 He was aware that he stood staring with his mouth agape, but Renji couldn’t make himself move; the sight of seeing the imperturbable man thus rattled was too shocking for words.

“…I will put you on speaker.” Byakuya pressed a button and stepped back as he replaced the handset, movements once again elegant and unruffled. “Go ahead.”

The lieutenant wandered over, curiosity breaking through his inertia at last.

“Hey fellas.” Kyouraku keishi-chō’s languid voice was unmistakable, despite the static crackling in the background. “Not answering your phones tonight?”

“Hardly,” the noble bristled while glaring at his mobile in accusation. “The signal strength in this area remains inadequate. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Eh, don’t worry on my account,” the Chief Superintendent drawled, “I’m just glad to hear you boys are okay.”

“Why wouldn’t we be okay?” Renji blurted out, hoping to distract Byakuya from the fact that the prefectural head knew of their precise whereabouts.

The subterfuge appeared to work; the captain looked expectantly at the phone as he removed the ornaments from his hair with adroit fingertips.

“Oh, that,” Kyouraku Shunsui continued at a leisurely pace. “Well, I’ve got good and bad news.”

“Oookay,” Renji offered, watching as his superior closed his eyes in frustration rather than rolling them.

“Good news is, your suspects arrived in federal custody right on time.”

Exhaling in relief, the redhead stopped mid-sigh as he noticed that Byakuya had stilled.

“Bad news is,” the disembodied voice continued, “that the brothers were dead on arrival.”

“Shit,” summarized Renji.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Shunsui sighed, ice cubes and glass meeting gently and audibly in the background. “The feds have extended you boys the courtesy of viewing the remains and the purported crime scene, if you’re up for it.”

The tattooed man held his tongue, looking to his somber superior for guidance.

“Very well,” Byakuya decided, whose tone and bearing betrayed nothing. The senior officers exchanged information, and Renji stood silently, aware that his ears were ringing and that his stomach seemed a leaden weight at his core. The call concluded, and the younger man had barely caught a word of the latter half of the exchange.

Renji’s body turned at the right moment, dutifully following his captain as the older man returned to the stereo and shut the phonograph off. Claret eyes swept over the tables, the now-cold food, the empty spot on the polished wood floor where their intimate embrace, their first kiss, should have happened and wondered what might have been. He looked at Byakuya, observed the sure and steady hands packing the records and leftovers away, and tried to imprint their shaking, vulnerable, briefly _human_ incarnation in his mind.

Did the other man feel half as disappointed as Renji did?

_I’ll never fucking know now._

But as they prepared to leave the basement studio as empty as they found it, Byakuya slowed and turned to present a quarter-profile to his younger colleague.

“Come, Renji.”

Between the mode of address and the Kuchiki’s bowed head, Abarai Renji had his answer.

 

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	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work intrudes once again into play, and Byakuya's past infiltrates the present. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Thirteen_

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They sped along the highway, dark car cloaked in the thick of night.

Byakuya’s suede-gloved hands glided over the steering wheel, the pleasant purr of the engine as he accelerated through the curves soothing his frayed nerves. He was grateful to be driving his own vehicle, an understated coupe which handled so smoothly that their police-issue sedans were relegated to soapbox-car status in comparison. Whereas he typically allowed [if not preferred] his flame-haired subordinate to drive, the noble had volunteered to chauffeur them to and from the outlying federal facility; they were both exhausted and upset, but the Kuchiki significantly less likely to succumb to road rage than his younger colleague. 

No words had passed between them on the return trip.

Renji sat staring out the window, deep frown and facial tattoos painting a harsh caricature over his reflection. _Perhaps it is just as well_ , Byakuya squinted as a high beam-wielding van sped along in the opposite direction, _that we put some distance between us. There is no sense in indulging in foolish notions when in the end –_

His hands began to shake again.

Inwardly cursing, the inspector reached for the heat console…only to find the dial turned up all the way. He ought to have known; bundled up in enough wool and silk to forestall a blizzard, his tremulousness had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

_I am simply overtired._ _It is no different than the chills that one gets after lengthy exertion; I have experienced as much after running._

While running did not generate nightmares that squandered his rest, nor the exaggerated startle reflex lately plaguing him with every loud or unexpected noise, it was beside the point; such temporary and thoroughly physical inconveniences would soon pass, as would whatever unorthodox turn his relationship with Abarai Renji had threatened to take.

A squeezing sensation suddenly seized his chest.

_We cannot go on like this. I will have to put in for a transfer…or perhaps just quit altogether..._

Byakuya swallowed against the bitter taste in the back of his mouth, struggling to counter the pounding of his heart.

_…though nothing could be further from what I truly desire. Oh, Renji…_

Blinking away the burning irritation in his eyes, the Kuchiki wondered for a moment if he might do something unfathomable and actually _cry._ Shaking his head to ward off the ridiculous idea, he decided that the hot, dry air blasting his face was to blame and reached over to adjust the thermostat to a more neutral setting.

“Oh, thank God!”

Byakuya cast a startled glance at his lieutenant, who had already removed his leather jacket and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt for the second time that evening.

“I swear I was about to melt, geez!” Renji fanned himself with his hands. “How the hell can you be wrapped up like a high-class burrito and still be cold?”

The blue blood blinked, privately amazed at the redhead’s arsenal of food-based similes.

“I used the washroom at the studio,” Byakuya started to explain, only slightly embellishing the truth, “and for unknown reasons, the window had been left open. I’ve been unable to warm my hands sufficiently until now.”

A croak escaped Renji’s mouth; the captain thought it might have been meant as an “oh,” but couldn’t be sure.

“I apologize for making you uncomfortable, Abarai.”

“Eh, you didn’t,” the tattooed man dismissed, “just wish I could share some’a my heat with you so we’d both end up just right.”

Byakuya cleared his throat as his subordinate blushed to a fire-engine red.

“Besides,” Renji recovered quickly, “I didn’t wanna say anythin’, as you looked to really be mullin’ things over.”

The noble produced a non-committal noise, aware that any words or thoughts directed at that subject might lead to further loss of control, an entirely unacceptable outcome.

“Was it our fault?” The redhead blurted out, interceding subconsciously on his superior’s behalf.

“Pardon?”

“The Brothers Grimm,” Renji clarified, forcing his body back into the leather seat. “Did we get’em killed?”

“No,” Byakuya declared with a certainty he did not possess. “We followed protocol to obtain higher level security and protection for the suspects, and as it stands now, it appears that every possible precaution was taken. To deviate from routine would only have made it easier for an attack to take place.”

“Mmh…as it stands now, the feds might not be able to prove that an attack _did_ take place.”

“That is true,” the noble allowed. “However, it is a remarkable coincidence that two restrained men about to be offered prosecutorial immunity freed themselves in transit, only to throttle each other.”

“Yeah, but it looks pretty fuckin’ bad for the feds. Even though we all know somethin’s up, the press’ll rake ‘em over the coals for deaths in custody.”

“I would hope,” the Kuchiki admitted, “that the classified nature of their work might afford Agent Hirako and his colleagues protection from such disclosure.”

“Wouldn’t that be somethin’,” Renji whistled dubiously. “Sure it’s no worse than other shady shit labeled as ‘matters of national security.’”

“Unfortunately, I am inclined to agree. Hirako-san deserves better, but Aizen’s genius lies in exploiting and subverting our rules of conduct to his own ends. Both of our agencies will be forced to pour time, manpower, and resources into this investigation, tracking bits and breadcrumbs he’s left to occupy us while his real goal remains elusive.”

“Drives me crazy, the thought’a him sendin’ us on wild goose chases like Keystone Cops while he does his little calligraphy and takes over the fuckin’ city…” the redhead’s diatribe dwindled into a growl as his fists clenched, bronzed digits blanching to ivory.

“Please refrain from condemning the hobby by taint of association.”

“Eh?” Renji’s fingers relaxed a smidgen.

“Calligraphy,” Byakuya clarified. “Even a menace may stumble onto a worthwhile pursuit by accident.”

“Oh, sorry,” the younger man ran his tongue over sharp teeth. “Forgot you were into that.”

“That isn’t the point, Abarai. I am simply loathe to demonize that which cultivates beauty and contemplation from an otherwise rote activity.”

“Yeah…that’s so you,” Renji concluded, sighing as he propped his chin up on a palm to stare at his captain.

Momentarily lacking a suitable reply, Byakuya signaled and took the exit ramp towards his subordinate’s dwelling.

“D’ya think it still woulda happened if you’d been lead investigator?”

They came to a stop at a traffic light; the inspector took the opportunity to turn and glare at his partner.

“Of course,” Byakuya practically snapped. “If you are implying that corners were cut or that the quality of the work was somehow diminished by your participation, you are mistaken. I would not have encouraged you to direct the investigation if I was uncertain of your ability and integrity, and as I supervised you appropriately throughout, the responsibility still lies with me as the senior officer.”

“So you’re sayin’ I really didn’t make that much of a difference?” The hurt in Renji’s voice was palpable.

“No, Abarai,” the noble sighed, annoyed, “I am saying that the fault does not lie with you. Whatever intrusive and insulting queries Internal Affairs may generate, some adverse outcomes are unavoidable and not a result of misdeeds on your part.”

“I guess.” The redhead had turned to stare out of the passenger window again, partly mollified, partly exhausted. 

Not satisfied with that result, Byakuya decided on a different tactic…even as he wondered why his lieutenant’s misplaced guilt should concern him so.

“If you were derelict in discharging your duties,” came the captain’s pointed inquiry, “do you really think I would have remained silent on the subject?”

Renji’s head whipped around, his superior noted with satisfaction.

“Nah, I guess not,” the younger man admitted, tense frame shifting weight along his flank. “But…”

“But, what?” Byakuya pressed on, determined to exorcise the other’s malcontent.

“But you still blame yourself, right?”

Unsure of what his lieutenant was getting at, the elder remained silent.

“So, is everything you just said bullshit,” Renji posited in a subdued tone, “or is there some reason you hold yourself to a higher standard than everyone else?”

The light turned green.

As the car quietly took on speed, Byakuya considered the accusation leveled at him.

“I am not immune to irrational thinking,” the quiet noble replied, “nor do I believe my intellect so vast as to dwarf both my colleagues and criminals such as Aizen Sosuke. My point was simply that we are responsible for identifying and apprehending murderers, not for aggressive profiling or trying to anticipate future crimes. If that were so…”

The Kuchiki paused as the implication of his words hit home. _That is precisely what I feel responsible for._

“I knew it,” Renji pronounced gently. “You think that, because you can tell that something bad’s about to happen, then it’s your fault if you can’t stop it? It’s sweet’a you, tryin’ to talk me outta beatin’ myself up about it, but it makes me feel even worse to watch you take it out on yourself.”

The eloquent inspector was speechless.

“Look, Captain,” the redhead continued, “Even without a spidey sense, I know this crap with Aizen’ll only get worse from here. I can cope with that, but what I can’t stand is the thought of us going back to the way we were before he disappeared.” 

Byakuya inclined his head in agreement; a return to animosity, frustrated silences and suspicion was beyond untenable - the mere idea was painful.

“I hope you know I’m not gunnin’ for you anymore…” Renji took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m not the smartest guy, and my mouth’s gonna keep gettin’ ahead o’my brain, but I’d do just about anythin’ for you.”

The noble remained mute as he pulled the car over to the curb and shut the ignition off, arresting their progress on a random side street. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he slipped gloved hands into his coat pockets, rendering the fine tremor less noticeable. 

“I know you’re strugglin’ right now,” the young man continued, “and I get that you keep your troubles to yourself, but it makes it kinda hard to help.”

Byakuya closed his eyes, registering the click of a releasing seatbelt buckle. He congratulated himself for remaining still as a weight settled on his shoulder, channeling the urge to flinch into restless flexion of his hidden fingers.

“I’m not expectin’ a confession, I just…” Renji’s sturdy digits traced circles over the inspector’s lapel, “…you don’t have to deal with everythin’ all by yourself, okay?”

The faint rustle of flesh against the fabric of his coat drowned out the breath trapped in his chest. 

“My apartment’s a block from here, and I’d like it if you came in,” the taller man leaned in, murmuring into Byakuya’s ear, “and if you’re not up for it tonight, you can consider it a standing invitation.”

Warm, dry lips pressed against his temple, and the Kuchiki exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Just don’t shut me out, alright?”

The redhead’s whisper rang through his head like a brass bell, reverberating long after the car door shut. When he realized that he was alone, Byakuya leaned forward to rest his head against the steering wheel, dazed.

He’d never felt so cowardly or undisciplined in his life.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._

The inspector turned all of his considerable focus towards his breathing, slowing the cycle and waiting for his pulse to do likewise. Over the years he’d had ample opportunity for perfecting this technique, learning to curtail, to eliminate any evidence of inner turmoil and maintain an imperturbable exterior.

_Inhale slowly, through the nose._

Byakuya remained draped over the wheel, locked within his sporty car and the carefully wrought fortress of his mind.

_Exhale calmly, through the mouth._

It occurred to him that this might be ‘ _the_ meltdown,’ the setback severe enough for his self-restraint to crumble, and publicly so.

_Inhale slowly, let peace and tranquility within._

_Why now, of all possible moments?_ The Kuchiki furrowed his brow at the thought intruding into his meditation.

_Exhale calmly, negativity flows out and away._

An image of Abarai Renji, hair wild and eyes ablaze, seared itself onto his retinas and his eyes popped open in realization.

_I cannot bear another loss. If something were to happen to you, Renji, I…there would be nothing of me left. Even now, I have so little to give…_

Byakuya became aware of his icy, suede-clad hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Enough,” he whispered, resuming his usual, impeccable posture and smoothing his obsidian hair back into order.

Allowing himself a wistful glance at the unoccupied passenger seat, he paused with a hand over the ignition. Well aware of the redhead’s address and rather blatant proposition, the detective turned the key and pulled back out onto the street.

_There is much for me to do before we can stand as equals, Renji. I will not burden you with my troubles, nor will I come in search of comfort I do not deserve. Whatever we are to each other, I refuse to look to anyone, much less you, to fix me._

For the first time in many minutes…or perhaps several days, Kuchiki Byakuya took a deep, deliberate breath and felt a modicum of self-restraint return.

_Out through the mouth, relinquish any free-floating anxiety._

Merging onto the otherwise empty beltway, the noble continued the exercise to sift through his cluttered, calamitous thoughts.

_In through the nose, focus on the here and now._

Sidestepping ruminations about his lieutenant, Aizen, and the painful meetings that would surely await him in the morning, Byakuya began to enumerate the items demanding his immediate attention.

_Take the side streets from the parkway to the manor._

_Leave the car out to be washed tomorrow._

_Tell Rukia that Aizen is still among the living._

His serenity threatened to flounder again.

_Stop being foolish,_ the noble chided himself as he decelerated along the exit ramp. _She deserves to hear the truth from me; ignorance afforded her no protection the last time…nor did I, until it was almost too late. I’ll not allow our relationship to sour again._

The bright lights illuminating the highway faded from view, replaced by sodium-vapor bulbs that dappled the suburban boulevard in softer highlights and shadows.

_Rukia, Renji…even the Kurosaki upstart have changed and grown substantially over the past two years. I am prodigiously proud of them all, so full of life –_

_-as I continue in suspended animation._

_What else would one expect, living as I do in the past?_

The dense shroud of night grew deeper, only a few stray beams from residences penetrating the bare limbs of trees to reach the streets. He realized, with mild alarm, that he was within a mile of his ancestral home.

Byakuya lifted his chin, absolutely refusing to represent anything but the expected image of a Kuchiki upon exiting the vehicle; his posture would be perfect, countenance blank and elegant hands _most definitely not shaking_. The maelstrom of annoyance, amusement, frustration, passion and affection currently directed towards his tattooed subordinate would not be spoken of that night…or perhaps at all…he could hardly bear to think of it, much less discuss it with the younger man in the morning.

Pulling into the winding lane of his driveway, the inspector noticed an unusual number of lights on in the mansion, then the bright blue smart car parked in the multi-bay garage.

Despite her stated intentions, his adopted sister had spent the night at the manor.

Byakuya sat in his car a minute longer than necessary, staring, again, at the vacated seat at his side.

_Better to get at least one awkward conversation out of the way._

The slender man exited the vehicle, locking it remotely as he took measured strides to the manor. As he perused the ring to find the house key, light from the domicile reflected off the metal cradled in his palm. Byakuya froze as a gun barrel inexplicably filled his vision, glinting in the moonlight and aimed at his heart, before the image disappeared.

_BANG!_

Gloved fingers closed over the innocuous keys in his hand.

“Unacceptable,” he whispered, heart racing and bile rising in his throat as he heard his sister scream. Byakuya didn’t search for its source; he’d experienced the flashback often enough to know how it played out, enough to recoil at the terror and confusion in Rukia’s voice that always followed the gunshot, if only in the confines of his mind.

_Such weakness is entirely unacceptable._

Abruptly turning on his heel towards the garage, the captain headed behind the structure where stands of spent ornamental grasses rippled slowly in the wind and raked gravel crunched underfoot. The Kuchiki scion moved between the plants and into the shadows cast by the building, subtly shivering and coming to a stop only when certain of being shrouded from the house.

After a momentary reprieve to secure both his hair and heirloom scarf, Byakuya expelled the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

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	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little sleep is to be had at Kuchiki manor, and Byakuya doesn't fare much better at work the next day. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter 14_

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Brushing off the winter chill clinging to his coat, Byakuya stepped silently through the foyer and dark hall leading to the dining room.

There Kuchiki Rukia sat, a studious figure surrounded by weighty tomes and stacks of stuffed binders. Her eyes scanned the page before her, rendered wider and more wondrous by the magnification of thick glasses. A floorboard creaked beneath his stocking feet and Rukia looked up, blinking owl-like in surprise.

“Nii-sama!” The girl exclaimed sotto voce, slipping off the coke-bottle lenses as if expecting him to disappear.

“Rukia.”

The detective stood still, watching as his adopted sister glanced at the clock, then at him, in silent inquiry. One sleek eyebrow inched upward, reflecting the question without a word.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted with a smile, “so I figured the all-nighter would be more comfortable at home.”

_Home._

Byakuya inclined his head, privately gratified. _Were it not for you, this building would simply be a museum as Renji claims…_

The stoic man bowed further as his lips curved upwards without permission; it was a relief to think of the redhead, if only for a moment, without a pang of guilt.

“I see,” the inspector covered as he pulled out a chair. “Surely you have already studied sufficiently for your examination?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rukia blushed faintly, tucking a bookmark into the text as she shut it. “It can’t hurt to give it another look. I really enjoy this class, so I don’t mind reviewing the syllabus again.”

“Forensic psychology?” Byakuya guessed, satisfied to see her smile brighten. 

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded conspiringly, leaning in. “I hate to admit it, but the sheer variety of all the things that affect the human mind just fascinates me.”

“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” the captain declared drolly, eyeing the teapot off to the side. “Some misguided souls earn a living by delving into the depths of the psyche.”

Rukia snorted, leaving her formal brother to marvel at the minor miracle of their casual conversation.

“Would you like some tea, Nii-sama?”

“I believe so,” he ventured, well aware of her penchant for strong, sweetened brews.

The girl’s tiny yet steadfast hands retrieved the small, cast-iron pot from its roost atop a candlelit stand, filling a cup with an alluring amber liquid. Accepting the tea, Byakuya inhaled the crisp, floral steam and decided against inquiring about what he was going to imbibe; he had recently come to trust his sister’s aesthetic despite his own hidebound habits.

Once again, his lively protégé came to mind. _They certainly share a willingness to embrace novel concepts_ , he mused, sipping his drink while envisioning the redhead’s flame-emblazoned socks.

“Isn’t it good?” Rukia broke into his reverie and he quickly nodded, realizing he’d been caught sporting a near-smile.

“So…” she continued, doing her best impression of an innocent grin, “what kept you out so late?”

The noble exhaled gently, as the young lady was well aware of ‘the lesson’ slated for that evening.

“A high-profile case took an unfortunate turn,” he pronounced carefully, mind already mulling over his next words. Byakuya watched his sister’s exuberance falter, a cautious, blank look absorbing her expression.

_You are now well versed in the ways of the family, Rukia, and it is a pity. Must I drain the life from all who surround me?_

It wouldn’t do to put it off any longer.

“Though lacking conclusive proof,” he continued in a somber tone, “it is likely the result of an order handed down by Aizen Sosuke.”

The petite girl blinked and set down her tea.

“Oh,” she said, calm as she folded her hands over a book. “I see.” Rukia paused. “I’m not surprised. The really evil ones don’t go down easily, do they?”

“I suppose not,” Byakuya agreed, astonishment naturally kept to himself. “Abarai came to the same conclusion.”

“I bet he did,” she sighed as her diminutive frame relaxed. “How is Renji taking it?”

“Remarkably well,” the inspector admitted. _Certainly better than I have._

“I’m glad,” Rukia trailed an index finger around the rim of her cup, averting her eyes.

While their relationship had thawed considerably, certain topics were still avoided as an unspoken rule. Neither would pry into painful corners of the other’s past, nor would the insinuation be made that any Kuchiki – especially not the two assembled siblings - was vulnerable to the same woes that plagued the rest of humanity. Byakuya was fairly certain this arrangement was more for the benefit of his own beleaguered pride than that of his resilient, street-smart sister.

“I have to say,” she eventually continued, “that in a way, we’re all better off for what we went through.”

“Oh?” The detective schooled his countenance into a perfect, placid mask with practiced ease.

“Sociopaths like Aizen prey on the very humanity of others,” Rukia enunciated carefully as her voice began to falter. “He might have taken advantage of the hurts and histories we’d rather have kept secret, but in the end, he brought us together to face the threat he posed…I mean, he poses.”

The raven-haired beauty set fell silent as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her brother remained still, tapered fingertips stealing warmth from the porcelain cup in their grasp.

“If it weren’t for that whole morass, I’d have never met Ichigo….and…well, Renji and…” her soft alto tapered up and off.

Byakuya’s heavy eyelids lowered, not faring much better than his sister. For the hundredth time in a matter of days, he privately shuddered at the prospect of what they almost lost…and might still lose. _There is nothing to say that our newly forged bonds won’t disintegrate under the shadow of his machinations. We’ve all proved how gullible and insular we can be, how easily we can be turned against each other; I remain mortified by how neatly I played into his hands, how I nearly destroyed all I now hold dear –_

“I’ll never forgive them for hurting you.”

Gunmetal gray eyes popped open, startled.

“Never,” Rukia repeated, her own large, violet eyes filling with tears. “But I won’t regret being able to sit here, to talk like this with my brother. And I’m glad that you’re not alone anymore.”

It wasn’t until the girl had appeared at his side and seized him in a saline-splashed hug that he realized what – or more correctly, whom – she was referring to. He swallowed, wrapping an arm around the young woman quietly sobbing into his hair. There were too many thoughts and feelings vying for dominance, so Byakuya suppressed them all with a gentle sigh.

_I shall not regret our circumstances either, Rukia. I will not disappoint you again._

As his frozen frame registered the warmth and life of the person beside him, the permafrost of his mind, or daresay _heart_ , allowed another vow to enter its depths.

_Renji, I will almost certainly disappoint you, but…but…I shall stop running away._

If either Kuchiki noticed the tear trailing down the elder’s face, neither was inclined to mention it.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Glancing at the clock, Byakuya settled into the high-backed chair with a resigned finality usually reserved for clan events.

His eyes roved over the neatly stacked folders before him, settling on the thumb drive as he mentally catalogued the contents therein. Having spent the better part of a sleepless night perusing case files, the inspector considered his work with some satisfaction; the interminable conference might just turn out to be fruitful as well.

As the minute hand neared twelve, the Kuchiki heir opened his laptop and connected it to the central USB hub, watching the projector power on. Idle banter continued amongst the other assembled captains, with the exception of Zaraki Kenpachi who was already asleep and snoring in his chair.

Byakuya cast him an envious glance, wondering if it was possible to nod off during his own presentation. He knew it could be done – Renji had once managed it, standing up no less – but the homicide detective held out little hope of accomplishing such a feat himself.

A moment later, the conference room doors opened and in walked an atypically sober Superintendent Kyouraku with Ise Nanao hot on his heels. Taken aback at their supervisor’s unexpected punctuality, Byakuya looked at his Rolex before signing in to the on-line meeting platform and entering their access code. The webcam light flashed and an image of the assembled detectives filled one half of the projector screen, while a cranky Hirako Shinji appeared on the other side, leaning out of the frame and whispering to an off-camera individual.

The Kuchiki shot a sidelong glance to the bearded man settling in at the head of the table, then at Ise-chan, who returned his gaze with a wink and a smile.

Startled and a bit confused, Byakuya blinked and eventually decided on a curt nod as he was unable to summon a more appropriate response. Looking again at Kyouraku-keishi-chō, who carefully avoided meeting his eyes, the noble pursed his lips.

Torn between curiosity and suspicion, he was no longer in any danger of falling asleep.

“Well, shall we get things started?” Kyouraku drawled as he sat back, crossing his legs and loosening his pink, petal-laden tie. His laughing eyes followed his subordinate as she distributed manila folders to each of the captains seated around the large table.

The background chatter trickled along unabated as a drowsy, bearded man slipped into the room and sank down in the chair next to the superintendent. Assistant District Attorney Stark seemed as bedraggled and uninebriated as Kyouraku, mused the homicide detective as he took in the homologous pair.

_There are some advantages to morning meetings,_ Byakuya decided as the Power Point presentation finally loaded on his computer. Rather than waste time and breath on introductory comments, the inspector simply advanced the slide, replacing the webcam images with a pair of crime scene photos on the wall-sized projector screen.

An abrupt silence swept through the room.

Zaraki Kenpachi snorted himself awake and turned a glazed golden eye toward the gruesome scenes.

“-the fuck?” The waking gargoyle croaked, a half-smile crimping his face at the lack of budgetary projections.

“Are you getting this, Shinji?” Kyouraku leaned forward slightly as he reached for his coffee.

“Yeah,” the federal agent sighed, papers shuffling loudly through the speaker centered on the conference table. “I’m with you. Whenever you’re ready, Kuchiki.”

“What is this?” Hitsugaya-keibu wondered aloud. The solemn head of the white-collar crimes division paged through the file in front of him before his large eyes settled on the screen again.

“S’our bust,” Zaraki announced, stretching and yawning as he gestured to the image on the right, four familiar forms sprawled in an empty bedroom within one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. “Don’t any a’you bastards watch the news?”

“Why bother? You blab all the relevant details in the break room,” Soi-fon murmured, evaluating her nails disinterestedly.

“Figured I’d save I.A. the trouble; either brag over coffee or have to lean over and talk right in ta’ yer mike,” the demon grinned at the wiry woman across the table.

“Those who follow the rules have nothing to fear from Internal Affairs,” she huffed, frowning into her cup.

“It’s kona, compliments of the lovely Ise-chan,” Shunsui attempted to redirect the conversation and ignore the glare of his longsuffering secretary. “Anyhoo…”

“I’m not recognizing the photos on the left,” Tōshirō confessed, indicating the grainy, yellowing image with corpses posed identically to those on the opposite side.

“I do,” Komamura-keibu pronounced quietly, deep set eyes gleaming in the dim room. “The sake massacre?”

Byakuya silently inclined his head.

“1977,” the chief of the Vice squad continued, powerful fingers drumming on his folder.

“Before most’a you ladies were born,” Kenpachi inserted under his breath.

“A shipment of high-grade heroin had been imported from South America,” Komamura went on undaunted. “The benevolent brotherhood that distributed it saw enormous profit, so much so that their competitors tried to doctor their own product to pass for the import. They were found out, and things came to a head in a sake distillery in Old Town.” 

“The four men pictured were gunned down in the cook-lab there,” the tall captain explained, “and rather than dump their bodies in the river, the yakuza hitmen displayed the corpses thus as a message to the competition.”

“Hmm,” the young, white-haired captain stared at the screen. “Is this the work of a copycat?”

“It’d have to be a pretty retro one,” the disembodied voice of Agent Hirako chimed in. “And not too creative either; that photo was plastered all over newspapers nationwide for months.”

“Meh,” Zaraki shifted into a dangerously horizontal pose. “Why the picture show? Didn’t ya already nail the guys?”

“For the more recent crime,” Komamura clarified, “as the sake massacre was never officially solved.”

“Yeah, yeah, fur face,” the bored S.W.A.T. captain snorted.

Byakuya observed the Vice Chief bristle slightly before turning away from Zaraki and back to the screen.

“Well, your suspects died in transit to federal custody last night,” the off-screen Shinji announced to a barrage of gasps and disgruntled noises.

“How could that – ”

Soi-fon’s question died in her throat as the noble advanced the slides. The right side of the screen was now covered by a photo from the previous evening, displaying the contents of the secured van, including one corpse with gold hair and another albino-pale, slumped in their seats with necks twisted and clearly broken.

Again, the image on the left was quite similar, though the black and white scanned photograph contrasted sharply with the high-resolution digital file standing opposite. The picture’s subjects were the bodies of two young men outfitted in military garb and propped up against a fence, nooses still around their throats.

An empty Styrofoam cup clattered to the floor. Ise-chan bent to retrieve it as the double doors opened again and the chief Medical Examiner slipped inside to lean against a wall. Surreptitiously surveying the room, the noble saw the surprise and horror he’d experienced earlier that morning echoed in every face within the room; even Zaraki Kenpachi’s typical bellicose indifference had transformed into disgust.

Urahara’s whistle broke the tense silence.

“What are, ‘the Izumo twins?’ I’ll take convicted traitors for a thousand, Alex,” Kisuke quipped, emptying a packet of sugar into his coffee.

“I take it those were the brothers convicted of passing submarine technology on to the Soviets in 1943?” Hitsugaya-keibu inferred, gesturing to the older photo.

“Right you are, Toushirou-kun,” the blond pathologist congratulated. “What else did I miss?”

“The part where an explanation is provided,” Soi-fon supplied in an even, if chilly, tone. “The similarities between the old cases and new are disturbing, but I’m not sure what justifies an interdepartmental investigation.”

“Besides the deaths in custody?” Kisuke cocked his head to the side, a cheeky grin on his face. “Is a kinder, gentler I.A. on the horizon?”

 “Hardly,” the petite woman shot back. “We were involved from the time of the drug bust, as Kuchiki-keibu had concerns about the protection afforded the suspects. If there was a deviation in protocol, it wasn’t on our end.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” a dubious Shinji reclaimed the right-hand side of the projector. “You did read the part of the report that documented breaches in your firewall and ballistics from a weapon that went missing from evidence, right?”

“Those deficiencies were corrected months ago,” Soi-fon glared at the screen, then cast a displeased glance at the homicide detective sitting silently at his computer. “Kurotsuchi-keibu revamped the software personally; both the mainframe and on-site security have been upgraded since then.”

“Well, if you find a fool-proof means of keeping hackers out, let the feds know,” Hirako-san quipped with no small amount of sarcasm. “There’s a good chance that your upgrades might have introduced a new problem into your system.”

“Alright, alright,” Kyouraku-keishi-chō intervened, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. “The point of this little get-together wasn’t to assign blame, but to regroup before things really hit the fan.” 

“What makes you think there is more trouble to come?” Komamura addressed their superintendent.

Byakuya spoke, at long last. “The four bodies discovered last week bore traces of Kyouka Suigetsu.”

In the uproar that followed, the noble glanced first at the assistant district attorney, then the prefectural chief, both of whom shrugged and rolled their eyes.

_It appears that I was not alone in my suspicions_ , he mused as the pandemonium died down.

“How long have you known?” A slightly irate Komamura demanded.

“We only got the trace back yesterday,” Urahara supplied before the noble could respond. “I’m guessing it’ll be at least a few days before you guys can confirm, Hirako-san?”

“Yeah, and don’t call me that,” Shinji grumbled, paging through something on his desk. “I’ve got my guys going through missing persons and John Does from the last couple of years now, to see if there are any other surprises Aizen might be cooking up for us. Hitsugaya, it’d be great if you could review any cases over the same timeframe; it may not be big-time heists…we’re thinking that he’d stick to small transactions, things less likely to attract attention from us.”

The youngest captain nodded. “It will take some time, as he liked- likes to operate under L.L.C.’s with superficially legitimate operations.”

“No problem. Komamura, I’ll put forth a similar request,” Agent Hirako continued. “He’s probably diversified his investments, so I apologize in advance for the drudgery.”

“It is no trouble,” the brawny man declared with certainty. “My department will make this a priority.”

“Good, good,” Shunsui murmured, unbuttoning his collar. “Soi-fon, I’d be in your debt if you could sit down with the amiable Kurotsuchi-keibu and give the whole place a good once-over; if you run into any trouble, I’m sure Urahara-sensei could offer some support?”

Kisuke beamed, only rendering the wiry woman more furious.

“We’ll leave no stone unturned,” the Internal Affairs chief promised in a carefully controlled voice. “Likewise, Agent Hirako can be assured of our full cooperation.”

“Excellent,” Shinji remarked, expression marginally less dubious than his tone. “Well, guys, thanks for sharing. I think we’ve all got our hands full for now, so what’dya say we conference call again in a week?”

“Sounds like fun,” Kyouraku nodded. “Thanks for helping us out.”

“No worries,” the bowl-cut sporting agent spouted with a sigh. “Never a dull moment with you guys…”

The camera feed blacked out, and Nanao brought the room lights back up to full power.

“Gimme a call when you track the bastard down,” Kenpachi whispered in Byakuya’s ear, suddenly and alarmingly close. “My boys’ll take care of’im. Wouldn’t want’cha to muddy up yer prom dress.”

The noble resisted the urge to jump, turning only enough to deliver a disdainful glance. In truth, he couldn’t begrudge Zaraki’s bloodlust under the circumstances…only his manners.

“I shall consider it, if you ask politely,” the Kuchiki murmured. “Wearing a tiara would also be most persuasive.”

Kenpachi cackled. “Hah! For a chance to nail that son-of-a-bitch, I’ll sit through a budget conference wearin’ nothin’ but a smile.”

“I’ll be sure to disable the heater beforehand,” Byakuya threatened with amusement as the superintendent’s secretary handed out the quarterly finance report.

“Shit, I’d strip now if I could skip out on this part,” the S.W.A.T. commander sighed, prompting Ise-chan to blush and the homicide captain to clear his throat.

“Better to save that for an appreciative audience,” the aristocrat mentioned under his breath.

Suddenly his brain supplied images of Abarai Renji, grinning as he moved through various states of undress. Recently acquired information, such as the redhead’s spicy scent, the extent of his exotic tattoos, and the way the defined muscles of his arms bulged and rippled made the dapper man’s mouth go dry, and he coughed again.

“Tell ya what, let’s set some rules,” Zaraki went on conspiringly. “I’ll lose something every time someone says ‘cost,’ and you strip something off whenever you hear the word ‘expense’. Put anything ya want back on with ‘savings,’ and we’ll both chuck an article o’ clothin’ with ‘yen.’ Got it?”

“No,” Byakuya said quickly, both to the proposal and his body’s continuing response to the scantily-clad Renji in his mind’s eye.

“Aw, come on,” Kenpachi chided with a manic grin, eyeing the other’s three piece suit. “You’ve got twice the clothes on that I do.”

“Absolutely not,” the blue blood refused as his face warmed, to his mortification.

“Heh, the virgin princess defends her virtue,” the demon chuckled. “I’d a’thought the kid woulda loosened ya up by now.”

“What?” Byakuya hissed, following the other’s golden gaze to their superior. Once again, Shunsui appeared amused and more than a little guilty as he made a ‘tone-it-down’ gesture towards Kenpachi.

The Kuchiki blinked in disbelief. _Surely not. I must be imagining –_

But as another knowing look passed between Kyouraku-keishi-chō and the S.W.A.T commander, then between the superintendent and his secretary, the noble felt his delicate stomach settle like lead.

Deciding to end the conversation by abstention, Byakuya turned his attention to the financial spreadsheet and the rows of tiny numbers therein.

“Well,” Shunsui sighed at length, “guess we’d better move on.”

  _Yes, indeed,_ the homicide captain silently agreed.

_What the devil is going on?_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shunsui and Byakuya have a chat; Renji is left to deal with a hangover and the consequences of his new ring tones.

_Compression, Chapter Fifteen_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

A veritable eternity later, the meeting came to a close.

Though outwardly composed, Byakuya was stiff and sleepy, having almost nodded off twice. In fact, it was the loud snoring issuing from Zaraki’s throat that kept the noble awake and reasonably alert during the remainder of the conference. The S.W.A.T. captain came to as the presentation ended and stalked off with a diabolical smile, to the noble’s chagrin.

The homicide detective was preparing to stand on non-commital legs when Kyouraku’s broad, hirsute hand landed on his shoulder.

“Kuchiki-kun, join us for a drink,” Shunsui ordered jovially, gesturing to his office as A.D.A. Stark propped open the door.

Byakuya simply nodded his assent and rose to follow the bearded men to the administrative suite situated at the building’s core. Despite his disapproval of the man’s casual manner, the noble admired the way Shunsui [or more precisely, Nanao] had furnished his office; sheer curtains softened the light pouring in from floor-to-ceiling windows, and a pleasing mix of dark wood furniture and lightly cluttered glass surfaces created an unusually comfortable splendor for the district’s top official.

Sinking into a leather armchair with dignified grace, the Kuchiki politely refused the tumbler of golden liquor in favor of an espresso; he’d learned early on that the two men he accompanied could imbibe more in a morning than he could stomach in a week.

The early hour didn’t seem to give Kyouraku-keishi-chō pause, and he sniffed the brandy briefly before taking a sip.

“That was some fancy detective work, son,” Shunsui mused, holding his snifter up to the sunlight. “And under such short notice.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stark rumbled his assent, taking the time to swirl his drink around. “Is any of your evidence more than circumstantial?”

“No,” Byakuya admitted without hesitation. “Even the presence of the drug proves nothing, beyond that it is still being synthesized.”

“Shame, that,” the attorney sighed after swallowing. “Though the murders do have ‘that air’ about them.”

Kyouraku nodded, turning his gaze from the glass in his hand to the inspector. “You were awfully quiet during the meeting.”

Byakuya lifted his shoulders slightly, allowing them to drop in a subtle shrug. “I was more interested in others’ interpretation than reciting my own.”

“Do you think it’s really him? That Aizen is back from the dead?” The superintendent prodded.

“I suspect that he is alive,” the detective began, “but I am less certain that all of what we have witnessed is at his behest.”

“Go on,” Stark gestured with a lazy wave of his hand, turning to tuck his legs beneath him as he settled into the sofa, heedless of his tailor-made suit.

“The superficial details point in his direction,” Byakuya clarified, “the choice of personally significant dates –”

“An anniversary murder?” Shunsui interjected.

“Yes, not to mention the presence of his hallucinogen of choice,” the captain went on, “in addition to the dramatic method of presentation all are suggestive of his involvement, and yet…”

Byakuya trailed off uncharacteristically, a bit distracted by the nesting-hearts shape created in his espresso foam by an unusually amicable Ise Nanao.

“And yet,” the sable-haired man continued, “the crime scenes the perpetrators have chosen to emulate do not neatly fit that hypothesis, if I am interpreting them correctly.”

“So,” the drowsy lawyer queried, “you’re implying that the positioning of the bodies is meant to convey a message?”

“I believe so. While the message itself is fairly clear, the intended target eluded me until now,” the inspector admitted.

“Please, enlighten us,” Kyouraku pleaded, crunching on an ice cube. “The suspense is killing me.”

_No, I suspect it is the lack of intoxication,_ Byakuya judged.

“The re-enactment of the ‘sake massacre’ is both a declaration of intent – a new, powerful drug is available and commanding a high price – and a warning not to interfere with the processing or distribution of the substance,” the aristocrat expounded, to which the others nodded.

“Though I gotta say, I doubt most of the local gangs would appreciate the historical reference,” Shunsui opined.

“I am almost certain they would not, with the exception of a few heads of family or their legal counsel,” Byakuya agreed. “The message was intended for us.”

The superintendent set his drink down, a serious expression briefly darkening his face. “Really? Why?”

“The invocation of the Izumo execution,” the noble continued, “implies that someone is passing this information along to the department, at great personal risk.”

“Hmm,” the attorney shifted again, now reclining on his side. “So, rather than them simply snuffing the snitches, you’re thinking that Aizen may have ordered the hits, but that one of his associates turned the murders into a diorama to give us advance warning?”

“I agree, it is a bit farfetched,” the inspector sipped his non-alcoholic beverage as he formulated his thoughts. “However, I think it more likely that an informant is at work than the normally meticulous Aizen issuing an obscure ultimatum to the local black market, at risk of revealing himself to us before he intended to do so.”

“Do you have a theory as to who’s ratting him out?”

Shunsui’s dark eyes glimmered in the sunlight. Like Urahara, whose casual, lighthearted affect belied keen intelligence, the Chief Superintendent knew and saw much more than he let on.

“Of course,” Byakuya replied evenly, “but I would rather not speculate.”

“Very well,” his superior smiled, “well within your rights.”

_It isn’t much, but anonymity may be your only protection, Gin. Between the expanding sphere of Aizen’s influence and the reach of the law, you will have no sanctuary._

_It would probably be better for you if you were simply the traitor we accused you of being._

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Kyouraku sat up straight, raising his snifter in the air. “To the strengthening of venerated bonds, friendship and trust…and learning from our mistakes.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stark tipped his head back, emptying his glass.

Byakuya remained silent, sipping foam as he considered the chief’s choice words.

“Well, Chris, me and young Sherlock here have some things to discuss. Meet you for lunch?”

“Sure thing.” Stark pulled himself up in a languid stretch. “Eleven-thirty work for you?”

“Let’s make it eleven. Rough morning,” Kyouraku toasted him again as he exited, taking another generous gulp of his liquor.

“Best of luck with Moriarty, lad,” the attorney advised as he shut the door.

_I take after Poirot more than Holmes,_ the noble decided before wincing at his own frivolity.

Shunsui reached over to retrieve a stoppered bottle housing his brandy. “So, Kuchiki-kun, how’s life?”

Byakuya set his drink down on the iridescent tile-inlaid table to his right.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” The noble asked, expressionless.

“Always,” the elder drawled, focused primarily on his booze.

“What, precisely, are you up to?”

“Who, me?” Shunsui pressed a hand to his chest in a reasonable facsimile of disbelief. “Why do you ask?”

The Kuchiki arched an eyebrow; Rukia’s poker face was far superior.

“Since speaking with you, my lieutenant has been behaving strangely,” the aristocrat began. “Zaraki Kenpachi is being lewder than usual, and your assistant both smiled and winked at me.”

Kyouraku’s grin faltered at the last item. “Eh, it can’t be helped. My little Nanao is such a romantic.”

The noble felt his eyes closing in consternation. “Though I am reluctant to hear your explanation, I will ask again; what are you scheming?”

“’Scheming’ is going a bit far, don’t you think?” The station chief ventured.

“There is a betting pool, I presume?” Byakuya successfully resisted the urge to clench his jaw.

“Wow,” the bearded man laughed, crossing his legs. “You really are psychic!”

“I am n – ” the noble caught himself. “I am observant, but that is beside the point. You do not deny it?”

“Only if Soi-fon is around, as she frowns on it even more than you do,” Shunsui admitted. “I can’t go into much detail, as I have vested interest in the outcome.”

“Really,” the inspector replied evenly. “As it seems to be affecting my subordinate, I’m afraid I must press for more information.”

“It’s affecting Abarai-kun?” The older man grinned. “Do tell!”

Byakuya sighed; if he was to satisfy his curiosity, he would have no choice but to play the superintendent’s infantile, infuriating game.

“It may simply be the result of Aizen’s return, but my lieutenant has been unusually moody and distracted.” The captain paused, aware that the same symptoms had manifested within himself. “On top of this he has been –”

_Renji has been touching me a great deal, and I have not minded in the slightest._

“He has been overly concerned as to my wellbeing,” the noble’s mouth supplied as the rest of his face threatened to color in embarrassment.

“Hmm,” Kyouraku murmured, expression thoughtful. “Has he made any…unusual overtures?”

Byakuya’s eyes narrowed. A moment later, the Chief Superintendent burst out laughing.

“Oh, my,” Shunsui guffawed, eyes tearing up. “You two are so much fun to tease.”

Posture made perfect in annoyance, the inspector claimed his coffee and sipped it in silence.

“Forgive me,” the bearded man continued to chuckle. “I was hoping he’d have seduced you before I had to explain myself. I can only keep up a straight face for so long.”

“You…encouraged…” Byakuya couldn’t go on. Even if he could lower himself to say the words, he was too stupefied to acknowledge the idea aloud.

“Of course I did,” Kyouraku admitted with a smug grin. “Two of my best detectives are falling for each other. It’s the least I can do, to nurture true love.”

The noble’s encyclopedic mind supplied at least ten ordinances violated by that conversation alone, and at least fifteen more serious infractions that such nurturance would bring into being.

“Why, as the senior official within the district, would you do such a thing?” Byakuya demanded, seething at the impetuous man before him.

“Simply put, happiness matters.”

The noble was not convinced, and his raised eyebrows indicated as much.

“There are rules against fraternization, I grant you,” the superintendent continued in earnest, “but there are also legitimate avenues that officers can take when they desire a more…intimate relationship.”

“What does Yamamoto-keishi-soukan think of your philosophy?” It occurred to Byakuya that his tone was too defensive, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Our Superintendent-general prizes my ability to prioritize and compromise, I think,” Shunsui mused, unoffended. “While rules should usually be respected, there are times that more damage is done by hiding behind them.”

When the inspector remained silent, his superior officer continued. “If you honestly don’t see a future with or have any interest in Abarai-kun, I can respect your decision. If your reluctance lies elsewhere, though, I think you owe it to yourself and him to give it a try. If I’m completely wrong and it ruins your partnership, I can always promote you.”

“Are you joking?” The quiet man mustered.

“About the promotion?”

Patience exhausted, Byakuya rolled his eyes. “I am not interested in a promotion, particularly one based on anything but merit.”

“So,” Kyouraku’s wry smile widened as his brows rose, “that means you _are_ interested in your lieutenant?”

The noble began to count to ten in his head. “All bets notwithstanding, that is entirely between Abarai-keibu-ho and myself.” He pursed his lips. “How can you construe any of this as being legal?”

“It’ll be hard to call it harassment if he’s the one doing the seducing,” the superintendent reasoned, then leaned forward to nudge the other back into his seat when Byakuya sprang up in indignation.

“I’m kidding,” Shunsui reassured, even as the inspector seemed ready to storm out. “In all seriousness, don’t spaz about it. You’ve both approached your administrator appropriately…even though I’m pretty sure this wasn’t what you intended when you agreed to this little chat.”

The taciturn detective shifted to look out the window, lips pressed together in a disapproving, fine line.

“What were you going to do, resign?” The teasing had come to a halt, and Kyouraku’s tone took on genuine sympathy.

After a long pause, Byakuya spoke. “I considered it.”

“That’s a real shame,” Shunsui pronounced delicately. “And I doubt Abarai-kun would ever get over it.”

Byakuya silently agreed, the thought of abandoning his treasured subordinate as the threat of Aizen loomed making him sick with self-disgust. The noble’s heavy lids drooped shut out of necessity – his eyes might reveal too much.

“I don’t think you’d be able to get over it, either…and I’m not just referring to your career.” The older man paused and sipped his liquor. “There’s only so much you can deny yourself and keep living.”

“I will not use him,” Byakuya declared, face still averted to remain in control.

“And there’s your problem, kiddo,” Shunsui weighed in. “You assume that revealing the less-than-perfect parts of yourself burdens other people. I think you’ll find that the chink in the armor is what makes it possible to reach out to others, and puts you within their reach.”

_But I cannot; every soul I have ever approached has been torn away, and for what?_

“It’s an amazing feeling, to be known and loved for who you really are.”

It was too much.

Byakuya rose smoothly and turned towards the door. His pale hand was within reach of the knob before Kyouraku’s voice reached his ears.

“If you won’t afford yourself any forgiveness or kindness, then think about what effect you’ll have on your lieutenant. He deserves some consideration, don’t you think?”

The aristocrat’s fingers paused on the doorknob. _He deserves much more than I am capable of giving._

“Abarai-kun is no fool, and he’s honest with himself about what he wants and feels.” The Chief Superintendent walked over and sat down at his oversized, polished desk. “Defer to his judgment, just this once, and see what happens.”

Byakuya turned to look over his shoulder at the authoritatively backlit Kyouraku Shunsui.

“Consider that an order, Captain,” the bearded man saluted as he sipped his drink.

The homicide detective eased out the door and down the hall without looking back.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop._

Renji’s heavy footfalls echoed through his head like a Clydesdale plodding along a cobblestone street. Each impact jarred his aching head, increasing the strain on the embattled musculature of his neck as he avoided looking anywhere but the floor. Even with chin to chest and designer sunglasses in place, the fluorescent lights were too much to bear, and the awkward posture helped neither his head nor his stomach to come to terms with his predicament.

Abarai-keibu-ho was four hours late and very hung over.

His extensive experience with similar circumstances was currently failing to provide him much comfort; if anything, having an idea of what to expect had transformed his queasy march to the office into a walk of shame.

_I am so dead._

The resigned slapping of his boots along the linoleum morphed into a dirge within his head.

_When will I ever learn? If I never get drunk again, it’ll be too fucking soon._

Pondering the wisdom of drinking alone, to excess, and to the early hours of the morning, Renji noticed the change in the baseboards as he neared the homicide division. He paused several paces away from his office door.

_Walk in there and take it like a man, Abarai. If you’re lucky, he’ll finish you off quickly. Of all the days to get plastered…_

Lifting his chin with a grimace, Renji was just opening the door when a powerful, rhythmic bass rang out from his breast pocket. In a split second, he took in the sight of Kuchiki-keibu, bespectacled and focused on his laptop while cradling his cell phone between shoulder and ear. As usual, the inspector was placing a noon-time call to verify his subordinate’s wellbeing [or, at the very least, continued existence on the physical plane].

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh-_

All too soon, the ringtone’s refrain trumpeted through the room.

_“I’m sexy and I know it…”_

Byakuya looked up, relief quickly giving way to bemused curiosity as the music continued to blare from the redhead’s mobile. As his stomach sank and flipped, the sunglass-sporting lieutenant stood in the doorway staring at his captain, who returned his gaze and made no move to end the call, sitting in rapt attention as the song played on.

It was only when the call went to voice mail that the men were stirred into motion, the Kuchiki’s nimble fingers terminating the connection as Renji’s thicker digits reached for his mobile and nearly dropped it in the waste bin. The tattooed man was about to muster a morning greeting when the accursed phone rang _again_ , an edgy guitar riff erupting out of the device’s speakers.

Byakuya blinked at him as the redhead dragged a sturdy finger across the screen.

_I am so fucking dead._

“Hey, Shu. Now’s not a good time for me to talk.”

The older man pocketed his own phone and turned his attention back to the laptop, though his fingers remained immobile over the keyboard.

“Yeah, I’m plannin’ on goin’ if I live to see the end of the day. Catch ya later, maybe.”

Renji ended the call without further ado, staring at the phone in his hand.

_Goodbye, cruel world._

“Good afternoon, Abarai.”

The neutral tone and use of his surname were hopeful signs, surely; the redhead shuddered at the memory of just how icily devastating a well-placed ‘good day, _Lieutenant,’_ could be.

All the same, Renji knew his usual stammered apology would not suffice.

“Just go ahead and get it over with,” the young man muttered, eyes scrunched shut behind his tinted lenses. “Put me out of my misery.”

_And cut the dead weight, while you’re at it. I don’t wanna be a joke to you, and I’m so damned tired of fucking up at every opportunity._

“I will do no such thing.”

Renji startled so badly that he knocked the shades right off his face, barely catching them as they hurtled towards the floor. When he straightened up, head pounding and clammy fingers smudging the lenses in his grasp, he finally took in his surroundings for the first time that day.

The quiet captain sat before him, glasses removed, laptop now closed, pale fingers laced together and resting lightly on his blotter. The expression Byakuya wore was guarded and completely unreadable, the dark circles beneath his eyes the only clue to his internal state.

As if working a crime scene, Renji let his eyes drift over the rest of the room to piece the evidence together. A cup of coffee stood near the inspector’s elbow, and a tin of powdered green tea was partially hidden amongst the few paperweights and pens on the elder’s desk.

_You hardly ever drink that much caffeine; still not sleeping._

Next, the lieutenant’s amber eyes settled on the carefully stacked crates behind Byakuya’s desk before noting the folder set out for his perusal.

_You found something – something big – in the cold case files; the meeting went well, and now we’ll all be trolling for more leads._

Renji’s powerful hand touched the file as something else occurred to him.

_You made this for me, but you didn’t put it on my desk, but on yours…_

It was then that the redhead noticed what else had been provided for him. A well-padded chair usually reserved for important guests had been placed directly opposite where Byakuya sat, only the polished surface separating them. Cluttering the normally empty and immaculate space was a place setting, a rectangle of white linen upon which rested a covered plate of rice balls and candied ginger, ivory chopsticks to one side and three glasses on the other. Renji peered into the cups, noting the sports drink/electrolyte concoction, ginger tea, and heavily sugared coffee that belied a small amount of rum within.

_My tried and true hangover remedies. You expected as much…and you feel responsible for it._

Renji’s bloodshot eyes suddenly threatened to tear; he felt too lousy, too unworthy to accept the gesture with anything but a thick swallow against the tightness gathering in his throat. A harsh rebuke he could have handled – unexpected kindness, however, brought the full crushing weight of his inadequacy to bear in an instant.

“Please sit down,” Byakuya gently interjected, and the young man obediently collapsed into the expensive seat.

“Why?” Renji’s hoarse voice cracked as he stared determinedly at his boots.

“An attentive officer sees to the needs of his subordinate.”

“That ain’t what I meant,” the younger man grumbled, composure still beyond his grasp and upset at the evasive answer, though even more upset and ashamed of his own behavior.

_Why are you so good to me, but you won’t let me help you? Am I that much of a joke that all you can show me is pity?_

“Why d’ya put up with my shit? I’m just a fuck-up…”

Unable to stop a few frustrated tears from flowing, the redhead covered his face with a hand and curled in on himself. A few minutes elapsed, and the play of hot breath against his palm only irritated his eyes further.

“Renji.”

The soft, silky voice cut through his anguish enough to make him sit up straight. Without further thought the tattooed man reached out for the tissue box that had materialized in front of him, grabbing a handful and blowing his nose with a squeak.

“I did not intend to upset you,” Byakuya continued calmly, dark eyes trained on the beleaguered orbs of his subordinate, “nor do I have any desire to be rid of you.”

Renji shook his head, struggling to understand what he heard. He blew his nose again before tossing the ball of damp paper across the room and into his wastebasket with a dull thud.

“But…why?” The young man croaked in disbelief.

The captain placed his hands flat on the desk before him as if coming to a decision.

“Because I need you,” Byakuya quietly concluded.

Renji’s jaw dropped as his impetuous words from their first encounter were echoed back, their positions similar but the circumstances as divergent as he could imagine. Without further thought he leaned forward and grasped the inspector’s left hand with both of his own.

If Byakuya made a sound of protest, his lieutenant heard none of it, entranced by the fine-boned hand dwarfed by his own coarse appendages. The inspector’s flesh was every bit as clammy as his, and the pulse that fluttered underneath betrayed the calm exterior of the owner.

Renji pressed his lips to the back of Byakuya’s hand, gratified to see his captain’s eyelids flutter shut.

“Renji,” came a gentle, whispered admonition.

Undeterred, the redhead carefully nuzzled first the back, then the smooth palm with his cheek, mindful of the hasty shaving job he’d done earlier in the day.

“I need you too, Byakuya,” he whispered into the other man’s hand, placing a kiss at the junction of palm and wrist.

Bloodshot eyes closed, and Renji allowed himself a moment to inhale his superior’s scent, to luxuriate in the delicate skin perpetually hidden beneath immaculate cuffs. He could feel Byakuya’s pulse rise and he smiled, a portion of his pain lessening at the irrefutable proof pounding against his lips.

_We can do better than this; we can do more than hint and fumble and apologize._

_Neither one of us thinks ourselves worthy, but I’m going to show you…_

_…that you don’t have to be invincible..._

_…that I can do right by you…_

_…and that I love you as you are._

He wanted to do more than kiss the captive hand; Byakuya’s wrist practically begged to be licked, for a firm open-mouth suck to be applied to the tender pulse point…or for teeth be dragged teasingly over dainty fingertips. The passionate redhead would do none of these for the moment; the gift he’d been afforded - the older man’s generosity and surprising tolerance of his subordinate’s impulsive behavior – would not be squandered in haste, but returned in kind.

Renji cracked one eye open, staring at the inspector’s nearby cup of office-swill-coffee as an idea sprang to life.

_Best start with something simple._

“Any second now,” he muttered, pressing Byakuya’s palm against his jaw, “the damned phone is gonna ring.”

“Our recent experience suggests as much,” the captain agreed, making no effort to rescue his abducted limb.

Looking up, Renji was heartened by the almost-smile his superior sported; the turbulent gray eyes held less alarm, more amusement…and a bit of warmth, too.

“Thanks for the pick-me-up,” the lieutenant murmured, referring to the meal before him but eyes still fixed on the inspector.

“It was my pleasure.” Byakuya’s thumb traced the redhead’s cheek as he spoke.

Renji grinned with the caress, turning to bestow one last kiss on the other’s hand before gently returning it to its owner.

“How are you feeling?” The captain inquired as he laced his fingers together again.

“Better, now,” the redhead admitted, “and this should really help. Mind if I…?”

Byakuya nodded, and the younger man made quick work of the snack. Renji was partway through the last of the rice when he looked up to see his superior watching him with an air of satisfaction.

“S’perfect,” Renji mumbled, mouth full. “How’d the meeting go?”

“It went well,” the inspector began before stilling with a slight frown.

Presuming the annoyed twitch was related to their Chief Superintendent, Renji decided not to inquire further.

“Great,” the tattooed man continued quickly. “I’m ready to dive into whatever work you’ve got for me.”

“Very well,” Byakuya cast a glance to the substantial amount of cases in the crates along the wall. “Let’s go over the new findings before designating further research tasks. But first, if you would do me a favor…”

“Name it.” Renji gulped down the sports drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Get rid of that abominable ring tone.”

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuchiki-keibu requests a file, and gets much more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by leila-blue. Warning: in my head canon, Renji does weird things when fed. If you hadn't already noticed.

_Compression, Chapter 16_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

The office was too quiet.

Though he would never complain about such a thing, the absence of background noise was beginning to thwart Byakuya’s concentration. His fingers tapped out a soft syncopated rhythm over the keyboard as they summarized the contents of his latest phone inquiry, his mind wandering and surveying the symphony of sounds in the office. The wall clock clicked along, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead and the baseboard heater panged as it powered on intermittently, and yet the room seemed as silent as a crypt.

His eyes flicked towards Renji’s messy desk for the thirtieth time in as many minutes.

_What in the world is taking him so long? I only asked for a file from the basement._

 Byakuya turned back to his computer screen as he considered the redhead’s whereabouts.

_Perhaps he fell asleep in the elevator…or in the morgue; his ability to eke out a nap is unparalleled._

Unbeknownst to him, the noble’s lips curved into an amused smile at the thought of the younger man’s stealthy sleeping habits. Byakuya couldn’t fault his lieutenant for taking advantage of the rest; in fact, the captain had been supplying his subordinate with a steady stream of errands in an effort to keep Renji’s boredom and restlessness from gaining too strong of a foothold.

_Abarai has been a tremendous help in reviewing the old case files, but…_

His nascent smile vanished as he recalled the redhead’s extensive overtime from the last week alone.

_…such office work suffocates him. Renji belongs on the street, pursuing leads…or in the box, interviewing and outmaneuvering suspects. It seems wrong to confine him in a cage such as this._

Byakuya’s typing came to a standstill.

_And I am the perpetrator of his domestication. Under the guise of teaching him how to think like an investigator, I tamed the wild, beautiful fire of his spirit…and now I would lure him in further and revoke his freedom completely._  

The sable-haired man frowned, pushing his glasses back up his nose with an index finger to the bridge.

_Even now, under the guise of doing him a favor, I send him scurrying about on frivolous tasks. Shameful._

Drawing from seemingly inexhaustible depths of self-loathing, Byakuya turned back to his report with single-minded purpose. His flint eyes no longer strayed to the other’s desk, and he excluded each and every sound in the immediate vicinity from his attention.

Thus the Kuchiki did not notice when the office door opened and shut, nor did the figure standing to his side break through his considerable focus. In the end, it was a plastic cup being placed onto his desk that not only caught his attention, but startled him badly enough to jump in his chair and grip the armrests in alarm.

“Wow. Someone’s a little tense.”

There stood Renji, sporting a quirky grin and eyebrows reaching nearly to his hairline in surprise. Not waiting for a reply, the tattooed man retrieved a takeout box and placed it before the inspector, placing the laptop out of the way.

“Spicy rolls and kimchee,” Renji explained before gesturing to the travel cup, “and Vietnamese iced coffee, though I’m thinkin’ you might not need any more caffeine.”

Byakuya blinked at the multicultural lunch amalgam, and then at the beaming young detective towering over him, completely at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry, I made sure it ain’t too sweet.”

Assuming that the last statement referred to the coffee the aristocrat considered the drink, then stared at the one who had procured the meal.

“Hey, don’t make me make you eat,” Renji’s grin went crooked. “It ain’t good for ya to run just on coffee, ya know? Come on, tuck in.”

Byakuya eventually found his voice. “Will you…be joining me?”

“Of course,” the younger man plopped into the guest chair, extending a pair of chopsticks to his captain. “Though I gotta confess to eatin’ some on the way.”

“I see.” Inhaling slowly and lowering his gaze, the Kuchiki regained some of his characteristic poise. “Very well. Thank you, Abarai.”

“Well, don’t thank me until you’ve tried it,” Renji slurped his own coffee, sighing in contentment. “I wasn’t brave enough to test any a’that atomic shit.”

“But you did test the coffee?” Byakuya gazed at the drink in curiosity.

“Well, I um…wanted to make sure it wasn’t sicky-sweet n’all…” The tattooed man scratched his nose with a broad thumbnail. “You make this funny face when you taste sweet things, kinda wrinklin’ your nose like you wanna twitch your whiskers –“

“Like a housecat?” The captain inquired in disbelief, having hoped beyond hope that his subordinate had already abandoned that idea.

“Yep.” Renji’s face colored considerably. “And then you’re pissy for a few hours afterwards, almost like somebody pulled your tail. I can’t believe I’m tellin’ you this, but it’s just so fuckin’ cute.”

“I see,” the noble repeated, visage calm despite his astonishment. “Abarai, I will eat this meal which you have so graciously provided, if you will please cease and desist in comparing me to a domesticated feline.”

_You are not as easily tamed as I supposed,_ the noble decided as he watched the fiercely tattooed, flame-haired man tear into filleted fish with a smirk. _Like a tiger playing with its food._

Byakuya suddenly wondered what the lieutenant’s sharp white teeth would feel like sinking into his neck, how the sturdy fingernails might rake down his back –

A groan of guttural pleasure escaped from his throat, he realized with horror.

“Good, ain’t it?”

Renji grinned, assuming that his superior was simply savoring his food.

“Yes,” Byakuya hastily lied and reached for his sushi, _I’m sure it would be._

The spicy rolls were excellent – he would have to inquire about their provenance later – but the stolid inspector’s attention was directed solely towards the captivating redhead who was shoving another large piece of fish into his mouth, cheeks bulging out with each bite.

Byakuya’s mouth went dry.

Reaching for coffee, the Kuchiki boggled at how obliviously erotic the other man could be when he ate; the reserved man had barely recovered from the pizza incident, and that had been days ago. He took a sip; it was good, rich and earthy… but not enough to quench his thirst, or to keep blood from flooding into his loins.

This was not going to end well.

Taking another deliberate mouthful, Byakuya tried to alter his position without blatantly squirming in his seat to little avail. He leveled a quiet curse at the untenable situation that left him flustered in his own office, glaring at his lunch in an effort to avoid eyeing his lieutenant again and making things worse. Mostly in self-defense, he sampled the kimchee and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was, indeed, atomic; his eyes watered slightly and he reached for his drink again, relieved at the plausible excuse for his flushing cheeks.

 Another mouthful of chili, garlic, and vinegar-infused cabbage cleansed his palate and discouraged the burgeoning erection hidden beneath his desk. The inspector closed his eyes and sighed in relief as the more-willful body parts came back under his control.

“Man, you really are tense. Lemme help you with that,” Renji offered, wiping his hands as he stood.

“Really, Abarai,” Byakuya sat up straighter in alarm, “I am fi -”

“Yeah, right,” the redhead interrupted as he stalked over. “Take off your jacket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Renji cocked an eyebrow in an imitation of his captain’s ‘ _know your place_ ’ look. “I don’t wanna wrinkle your fancy suit.”

“How, precisely…” Shocked as he was at the tattooed man’s insubordination, Byakuya’s train of thought derailed completely as a pair of powerful arms snaked around his midsection.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it,” Renji chided as he unbuttoned his captain’s suit jacket. “I can’t work with all that extra fabric in the way.”

Assertive fingers slid over the lapels and Byakuya reflexively shrugged out of the garment, which Renji placed on the coat rack with a chuckle.

“Vest,” the redhead commanded next.

The noble paused momentarily but batted away the broad hands when they approached him again. Directing a scathing look towards his cheeky lieutenant, Byakuya unfastened the smaller buttons and surrendered the vest without a word.

They stared at each other for an interval, Renji’s amused amber gaze unflinching before Byakuya’s peevish glare. The inspector had been reduced to shirtsleeves and would cede no further advantage.

“Scoot forward.”

Byakuya barely registered the words before the other’s powerful hands gripped his shoulders, quickly digging into the tense ridges of the trapezius muscle. Be it out of shock or relief, the blue blood exhaled in a soft gasp.

“Geez,” Renji exclaimed as his thumbs kneaded the strained neck, “it’s a wonder your head doesn’t pop right off, your muscles are so tight.”

“That…would be…an unusual…cause… of death…” Byakuya managed between strokes of the younger man’s fingers.

“Maybe so.” Brawny hands paused along the inner edge of the right shoulder blade. “Hurt much here?”

“A little,” the elder allowed, eyes closing as pressure was applied to the tender point.

“Big old knot there,” Renji described as he attacked the spasm with small, circular motions. “Ya gotta get up and take some breaks. It’s not good to sit hunched over for hours like that.”

“I do not hunch,” Byakuya corrected, leaning into the other’s hands.

“Right.” Knuckles were applied to spread the scapulae apart, making their owner gasp again. “If you can remember to shoo me out, you can spare a few minutes for yourself, too. Why don’tcha come with me next time?”

“I will…consider it…” The noble’s voice wavered as the knot finally released, hands gripping the desk to steady himself.

“Try not to do that,” Renji instructed gently, “it’ll just tense the muscles back up again.”

Duly chastened, Byakuya let his hands fall into his lap and hoped the motion would look natural enough; he did not want to draw attention to his reawakened arousal, nor did he want the splendid assault to stop.

_You may lack confidence in some areas, Renji, but you are truly gifted with your hands._

Broad, bronzed fingers slipped over his shirt-clad skin, following the hidden muscle fibers and applying force in exact balance with the tension underneath. Warm hands slid over the gentle undulations of his ribs, ran parallel to the spinous processes that punctuated the center of his slender back; it took all of his considerable control not to moan as ligaments and tendons popped into alignment under pressure.

Renji’s powerful grasp transformed the overwrought musculature of his thoracic and lumbar spine into a mass of boneless bliss; heavy, resonant warmth spread out from the tattooed man’s hands along his spine and into his center, making it impossible to remain upright. The reserved man found himself practically draped over his own desk as the redhead’s hands reached his waist.

“Abarai.”

The aforementioned young man, who was now merrily whistling between his teeth, paid him no mind.

“Renji.”

“Hmm?” The invading thumbs worked slowly along the top of his hipbones.

“This needs to stop.” The captain’s weary reluctance was poorly disguised.

“Why?” The redhead didn’t hide the hurt in his voice, either.

“We are at work.”

“And?” The thumbs continued to work their magic along his lower back.

“And, I am about to fall asleep.”

“Cool,” Renji smirked, knuckles running parallel to the noble’s spine. “Maybe I should come home with you and work you over so you can rest.”

“Abarai,” the noble scolded; the tattooed man snorted at his own audacity.

“Eh, it was worth a try,” Renji chuckled and patted him on the back.

Byakuya swallowed a sarcastic comment, preparing to sit up as his hair was stirred by a puff of moist breath.

“All done,” the redhead purred, kissing the patch of vulnerable flesh behind his ear.

“Renji.” The noble’s voice was rough, and the delicate helix of his ear suddenly bright red.

“Yeah?” The lieutenant’s seductive laughter only riled his captain further.

“The file I asked for nearly an hour ago?” Byakuya asked, still nearly face-down on his desk.

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Renji confessed and stepped back. “Guess I’ll go get it…”

Neither man moved.

“Wanna come with?” The redhead inquired.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Another awkward moment passed before Byakuya gingerly straightened and set his lunch aside. Hands alighting gently on the blotter, the aristocrat pulled himself and his chair _towards_ his desk rather than reclaiming his vest and jacket, as Renji had expected him to.

The inspector shifted slightly as he reached for his laptop, and his perspicacious lieutenant cocked his head to the side, observing him for a moment. Unsettled by the close scrutiny, Byakuya stilled and summoned a placid expression, hoping that Renji would obediently fetch the file and leave him in peace.

“So,” the redhead closed the distance, perching deliberately on the edge of his captain’s desk as his voice dropped an octave. “ _Anything else_ I can help you with?”

Realizing he’d been found out, Byakuya bowed his head with an exasperated sigh. “I think you’ve done quite enough.”

“Aw, it ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Renji announced, wearing a smug smile as his thigh nudged the elder’s arm rest. “You know I live to serve.”

“Abarai,” the Kuchiki hissed, glaring determinedly at his calendar…or his computer…or anywhere, really, other than at the mesmerizing creature edging its way into his personal space. Losing control of his physiological responses and his faculties, especially in the office, was inexcusable; Byakuya wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed by the redhead’s impudence or his own flimsy resolve.

In another moment, it didn’t matter. Something touched his chin; Byakuya instinctively tilted his face upward and brought their mouths together.

The indignant tension marshaling the noble’s thoughts vanished in an instant.

_Warm._

The redhead’s lips were dry, insistent as they sought his, a tentative brush that built up into a firm caress. The two men stole quick half-breaths as Renji leaned in, pulling the armrests forward until chair met desk, cutting off his superior’s escape route.

_Sweet._

The powerful hands cradling his face were gentle, angling his head to the side, curving around his neck. Byakuya wasn’t sure how his fingers found their way into wild crimson hair, nor precisely what he was hoping to accomplish by tugging on the lieutenant’s loosened tie. That crooked, _wonderful_ mouth coaxed his jaw to open, nudged his lips apart as a salty-sweet tongue pressed inside.

The kiss was respectful in a way, polite; like every move Renji made it was ripe with barely-restrained power, passion roiling just beneath the surface. Be it out of longstanding curiosity or lack of air, Byakuya wondered at what lurked behind the civilized veneer, wanted to see it, _feel_ it…and so he did. With none of his customary caution the blueblood indulged, one slender hand bunching the redhead’s shirt while the other unbound his ponytail.

Renji responded in kind, growling as waves of red tresses fell down around his shoulders, surging forward to pin the older man back against the headrest; the inspector emitted a tiny cry of satisfaction as the remaining oxygen was knocked right out of his lungs.

_Renji._

Suddenly, the moment was perfect. His hair was askew, face rubbed raw by stubble, painfully hard and unable to think, breathe, or see; Byakuya’s world telescoped into the mouth, hands, and honey-cinnamon scent of the man kissing him senseless.

The Kuchiki cursed himself, even as he wished that Renji could get closer and that the embrace would never end.    

Renji dragged a hand down his front, leaving a trail of fire as he paused over his stomach, thumb sliding restlessly along the pristine silk of his tie. The overwhelming, fleeting moment was over; the noble’s hand closed around the other, sturdier wrist and arrested its progress.

“Enough,” Byakuya pulled away, enunciation uncertain with throbbing lips.

Releasing his grip on Renji’s emancipated hair, the captain quickly smoothed his own locks back as he righted his posture. The taller man straightened slowly and stepped back, pointed pink tongue swiping his lips, pupils wide and hungry. The defiant look was quickly channeled into a lopsided grin as the redhead reclaimed his hairtie.

“Well,” Renji shook back his overgrown mane, wiping his mouth on a sleeve. “Guess I’m off to the great downstairs again.”

The aristocrat nodded, not trusting his voice, furious with himself for looking up expectantly as the other reached the threshold.

“I’ll give ya a bit to freshen up on your own,” the lieutenant announced as he shut the door.  

Renji remained there for a moment, his broad-shouldered frame a complex shadow along the frosted glass as he wrangled his hair back into a ponytail. Byakuya watched the silhouette pause, look back to the office, and sigh as it eventually moved away.

He wanted to follow after him; he wished he’d called out, said _something_ before the impossible and entrancing man had slipped out of his grasp.

But he couldn’t.

Rubbing his tired eyes and chapped face, Byakuya focused on his breathing and shut out all competing signals from his overwrought body. When he vowed to stop running from the redhead, he’d underestimated the reciprocal challenge of actively pursuing the other man; even if he could walk in his current state, what would he do if he caught up to Renji?

_Nothing worth repeating_ , the aristocrat decided as he closed the takeout container. _Shame, fatigue and arousal make terrible bedfellows. This physical inconvenience will pass…but making a mess of whatever is between us will not._

Byakuya moved the coffee cup onto his blotter, and deposited the rest of his meal in the trashcan.

_I cannot work properly with all these distractions; what may be a pleasant diversion in the office might get us killed on the street. Kyouraku is an insufferable fool to suggest that this could be a good idea._

The insistent, impudent throb in his groin gradually dwindled to a dull ache, and he reclaimed his vest and jacket with quiet efficiency. The taciturn man reclaimed his seat, tucking onyx hair behind an ear as he opened his laptop.

_I will not do anything to compromise your safety, Renji, nor will I surrender to baser instincts and simply hope for the best._

For one stray moment, though, Byakuya let his mind go there, allowing his atrophied imagination to speculate on what such surrender might involve, before shuddering and closing his eyes.

_I will not succumb…no matter how much I wish to._

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	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya's determination not to enjoy the holiday party pays off, for once. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Seventeen_

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Byakuya looked at the many columns and rows of the spreadsheet on his tablet, frowning.

An idle passerby would think him disturbed by the deejay’s amplified racket, or perhaps the low lighting in the ballroom that passed for a festive setting, and they would be wrong; he was on the verge of another breakthrough, and it was simply coincidence that it was happening at the holiday party.

The homicide detective ignored the sidelong glances of his colleagues, their friends, and complete strangers as he scoured the data again. He would not be turned from this task until the riddle was solved; after nearly a week of wasted effort and aimless inquiries, the noble was finally on to something promising. He could feel it – though he could never admit as much.

A telltale tightness gripped his chest, adding effort to each breath; mild nausea and a throbbing headache alerted him to the significance of the information before him, sharpening his focus rather than serving as distractions. The symptoms were quite consistent and had plagued him since his youth, though it was only as an adult that he learned to interpret the physical signs correctly.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Byakuya pushed up his wire-rim glasses with a silent sigh.

Aches and pains aside, time was running out.

The surge of interdepartmental harmony generated by the threat of a resurrected Aizen was on the wane; there was too much data, too few fruitful leads to justify throwing more time and resources into a scattershot search for clues to the criminal’s whereabouts, all promises to the federal investigators aside. The Kuchiki had watched the dry-erase board fill up with bread-and-butter cases, had received enough frustrated, apologetic looks from the other captains to realize that the burden of proof would fall on homicide, on him, to remain vigilant against the invisible, ubiquitous menace.

In the meantime, there were numbers.

Byakuya surveyed the Excel spreadsheet again before starting to scroll through the figures compiled by R&D there were charts, graphs, and maps enough to make his level head spin, and the promise [threat] of further cacophony in the form of live music did not help his process. He considered going back to the office – the lure of a clean, quiet, familiar space was strong – but was acutely aware that his absence would be noted, and thus stayed put.

Keen platinum eyes caught snatches of color in the periphery; the flamboyant flutter of Ayasegawa-san’s silky wisteria kimono, Kurosaki’s spiky shock of tangerine hair, even the spectacular sparkle of Rukia’s cobalt blue sequined dress paraded through the margins of his vision, though he continued to track a single hue as he worked.

Red.

Fire-engine red, vivid enough to illuminate the room, haunt his dreams, and burn its way into his every waking moment; the harder he tried to avoid it, the more tenaciously it gripped his consciousness.

Byakuya reached for a glass of water as his features flushed at the thought. His gaze strayed to his lieutenant who stood in the center of the dance floor, laughing and joking and practically wrestling with his many friends. Renji had opted for an all-black outfit which enhanced his jagged tattoos and bronzed skin, sharp teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness.

_Focus, you fool; mooning after your subordinate will not accomplish anything._

Instead he forced his eyes and attention back to the modest computer screen, taking in a city map with locations of drug busts, prostitution arrests and homicides superimposed and conveniently color coded. Kurotsuchi-keibu had graciously provided nearly twenty years of data [gathered and processed by underlings, naturally], and unless a horde of federal agents planned to descend and massage the data for him, the aristocrat was left with ample information and a sense of foreboding.

A broad swath of white passed between his table and the dance floor.

“Still resisting the pull of leisure time, Bya-kun?”

“Ukitake-sempai.”

The noble looked his former captain over, noting the elegant contrast of snowy hair over a jet black tuxedo jacket.

“May I?” Juushirou inquired as he pulled out a chair.

“As you wish,” Byakuya allowed, logging off the computer and tucking his reading glasses into a breast pocket.

“Shunsui is ‘inspecting’ the bar,” Ukitake explained the absence of his other half, attention drifting to his pupil’s untouched whiskey. “Big case?”

“Or smoke and mirrors,” the younger man admitted with an almost-frustrated sigh. The sympathetic look from his mentor indicated he’d heard about Aizen already, and the aristocrat was grateful to not have to relate the sordid tale again. “I am missing something.”

“The party, perhaps?”

“Sempai…” Byakuya came close to rolling his eyes.

“I jest, but only partly so,” Juushirou smiled kindly. “You are familiar with the law of diminishing returns?”

The pale man nodded, obsidian hair shining in the low light.

“Even someone with incredible talent, such as yourself, can make the mistake of trying too hard,” the retired officer suggested. “All work and no play -”

“Keeps me perpetually dull,” Byakuya finished on a dry note.

“Nothing that a bit of actual rest and relaxation wouldn’t help,” Ukitake corrected. “I am curious, though, what matter is demanding your urgent attention tonight? It’s a bit unlike you to literally work through an event like this for nothing more than staring at spreadsheets.”

The Kuchiki pursed his lips together for a moment. “In the face of a grave…if vague, threat, would you not do all you could to avert it?”

“That’s a rather loaded question, don’t you think?” Juushirou sat back, crossing his long legs as he sipped his champagne. “It’s one thing to perform to the best of one’s abilities, and another to neglect oneself and others in an obsessive pursuit of an ever-elusive goal.”

The blue blood’s hand had migrated toward his tablet, toying with the urge to drum tapered fingers over the cover.

“Criminals will escape justice, subordinates will come to harm,” Ukitake continued with a momentarily pained look, “regardless of whether we work ourselves to exhaustion or not. Apply yourself, but make sure there is something left for the sake of those around you.”

A raucous whoop went up from the general vicinity of the bar; Kyouraku-keishi-chō raised a bottle overhead that further stirred the crowd into frenzy.

“Oh, dear,” Juushirou muttered to himself as he stood. “It really doesn’t do to leave them to their own devices for too long.”

“I suppose not,” Byakuya commented in a neutral tone, contemplating the table top.

“Try taking a break,” Ukitake recommended as he stepped towards the fracas. “You might find the change in scenery helpful.”

Out of respect for his elder the homicide detective relented, taking a moment to observe the enthusiastic multitude occupying the ballroom. He took in a great amount of detail in a hurry; the Kurosaki boy had an arm slung around Rukia’s slender shoulders, a tiara-bedecked Yachiru dragged a loudly-protesting Madarame Ikkaku in circles around her parents, and a gaggle of attractive young people mustered an awkward, if impassioned, attempt at salsa dancing at the center of the polished floor.

_Abarai’s hip motion has improved_ , he decided as the redhead and his tattooed friend Hisagi took turns moving with the backleading Matsumoto-keibu-ho. _It is good to see him enjoying himself with his friends with as hard as he’s been working lately._

His lieutenant was laughing a great deal, twirling recklessly and fending off snippy comments from Kurosaki-kun to his rear. Byakuya was impressed by his poise, though in his opinion the young man’s focus was off.

_You must remember, Abarai, to make your partner the center of your attention. If you would be successful, render your desire obvious and unequivocal._  

As if reading his thoughts, Renji turned and met his gaze with an expression that was both wistful and hungry; a sudden surge of longing overwhelmed him, and the proud noble had to look away.

_Once again you shame me for my assumptions; you learn quickly, and it is I that cannot see what is right in front of me._

Byakuya’s breath left him.

_Right in front of me…_

In an instant his tablet was powered on, long fingers flying over the keys.

_Only Aizen would be brazen enough to leave the evidence in plain sight._

The inspector opened two browsers in tandem, enabling him to view each column of data with its corresponding plot on the map of the greater metropolitan area.

_The most brilliant schemes are the simplest, and the best way to fool people is to show them exactly what they want to see._

As he reached the current year’s data, Byakuya’s hand stilled over the cursor as he stared unblinkingly at the screen.

_Follow your own instruction; observe first, interpret later._

Nodding in response to his internal monologue, the sober man scrolled again through the tables, entering in a few key figures as he read.

_Only Ichimaru would leave hints so obvious that we all missed them the first time._

His pale, tapered digits moved over the keypad of their own accord. Byakuya made notes in a new column as he worked, pausing to review his conclusions several times to be thorough.

_Only I would toil over this at a social function. I am a simpleton._

With that last notion in mind Byakuya closed the cover of the tablet, folding his hands on the top. He could still feel the weight of Renji’s stare, though he resisted the urge to meet his eyes; it would completely wipe out his train of thought, and what the self-possessed man needed most at the moment was to think.

The blaring tune dwindled into silence, and it would be mere moments before Hisagi’s band would take the stage; he needed to leave, and soon.

Naturally, his phone rang.

Cursing cell phone technology, Byakuya withdrew the appliance from his waistcoat and felt an expression of unmitigated consternation pass over his well-bred features as he noted the caller’s identity. Consolidating his belongings with one hand, he took a cleansing breath before answering.

“It just figures you’d be the one to play wallflower, Bya-bo.”

“Shihōin Yoruichi. To what to I owe the pleasure?” He kept his tone as dry as possible, scanning the crowd for evidence of the demon cat.

“To your terrible manners; what are they teaching Kuchikis these days?”

_Not to throttle annoying individuals over the phone._ “Is there a point you would like to make, or are you still simply enthralled by the sound of your own voice?”

“My point is, Captain Ballroom, is that it’s awfully rude to sit there pouting while there are sweet young things milling around the dance floor without a partner.”

The assistant district attorney’s knack for unbearable nicknames had not diminished over time, and the amused giggle of her husband, Urahara-sensei, in the background did not help the noble’s mood. Byakuya finally spotted the pair, her dark purple hair clashing horribly with his chaotic blond mop, in a far corner of the rented hall.

“I do not pout,” The inspector corrected, “nor do I dance in public venues any longer.”

“Oh, really?” The were-cat purred into the phone. “I’ve heard recent reports to the contrary, and from reliable sources. Would you care to clarify that statement, detective?”

“No, I would prefer to hang up,” Byakuya confessed as he stood.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Yoruichi’s teasing lilt lowered into a disapproving hiss. “Don’t you dare walk out now and leave your poor lieu –”

The stern man ended the call without another word, turning the phone off for good measure.

_Do not presume to speak to me of abandonment._

Feedback blared through the guitar amp perched on the front of a weathered rostrum; even though he’d expected the noise, Byakuya felt his last nerve fray and the fine hairs on his arms rise, and could practically see the subtle tremor seize his hands as he put on his coat. While he hadn’t startled much, it was only a matter of time before the noise and chaos chipped away at his typically unimpeachable control.

Slipping the miniature computer into his coat pocket, he swept out into a heavily marbled colonnade and up a darkened stairway that led to the concert hall’s roof. It was only when the external door gave way and crisp, cold air hit his face that he could breathe again.

It was a clear night, a full moon bathing the rooftop in icy blue light.

Byakuya gripped the wrought-iron railing with suede covered hands and inhaled deeply as the sting of frigid air cleared his mind.

_Indulge in your neuroses later; now is the time to analyze the evidence._

The disciplined detective catalogued the charts and maps in his mind, districts and dots and numbers collating themselves in a clear pattern.

_Inner-city murder rates have dropped uniformly and substantially throughout the last two years, and Mayor Tousen’s gentrification initiatives had nothing to do with it._

The soft-spoken writer turned politician had channeled a great deal of money into sprucing up the poorer wards, right up to the day he disappeared and Aizen Sosuke ‘died.’

_Even under ideal circumstances, increasing property values and the presence of more uniformed officers only affect gang activity to a certain degree; if one took these statistics at face value, they might believe that mob-related deaths have dropped nearly to zero. If that were true, why hasn’t a similar decline in prostitution and trafficking taken place?_

A blustery gust tousled his hair and turned one edge of his woolen collar upright.

_Let us assume instead that the deaths have continued at a similar rate to the previous eighteen years, plus or minus the five to eight percent annual variance typical for this region; if so, where are the bodies? Why would the yakuza suddenly take interest in covering their tracks? There has been a tremendous amount of in-fighting over the past decade, and especially in the event of a hostile takeover, the body count should be substantial, unless…_

_Unless the bodies themselves are of value._

“Ah,” Byakuya murmured, eyes widening as the realization hit him full force.

_You chose your clues very well indeed, Gin; two men in need of donated organs, four men dosed with the world’s most potent hallucinogen._

_Rather than simply being executed, those condemned by local organized crime are either being used as guinea pigs, organ donors, or both; not only are they free test subjects, but a potential source of tremendous profit._

_Meanwhile, City Hall can pride itself on its deterrent measures and the ‘late’ Tousen’s noble cause._

_Brilliant, yes…and diabolical._

The Chief of the Homicide division shivered and gripped the railing tighter as his eyes roved over nearby rooftops, registering nothing but the conspiracy unfolding in his head.

_And this discovery accomplishes nothing. A pattern is there, as is a compelling explanation, but we will never secure a search warrant to investigate a decline in the homicide rate, especially if the root causes could damage political capital for City Hall._

_Once again, Aizen is getting away with murder – not to mention illegal organ procurement and bioweapons development – while Tousen’s peculiar brand of justice is borne out, and we will be powerless to stop it; indeed, our city government is likely benefitting, both in finances and reputation, from allowing a sociopath to exterminate the less desirable members of the population. Surely it is only a matter of time before Aizen grows tired of being an invisible puppet master and formally takes control of the city._

_In the face of such evil and corruption, what are we to do?_

Byakuya bit his tongue, heavy lids drooping shut. He would gladly give his life to stop Aizen Sosuke, though it was becoming apparent that such sacrifice would do nothing but add to the body count.

_What am I to do?_

The noble feared neither death nor injury, and was no stranger to pain; what would rob him of sleep in the nights to come would be the terrible prospect of losing those he loved, of being unable to protect the precious people around him.

_Inhale through the nose, gather strength and tranquility._

_Exhale through the mouth, dispel all that diminishes your resolve._

Lifting his chin, Byakuya willed the tense set of his shoulders away, his spine settling into perfect alignment.

_I will not wallow in despair and hopelessness; I shall meet the tide of rising evil head-on and will be victorious._

_Anything less is unacceptable._

Thinking on his warm-hearted former sempai, his sister, and his lieutenant, the aristocrat’s steely gaze fixed upon the moon with typical Kuchiki determination.

_I will not fail you...even if it costs me everything I have._

Another gust of arctic air howled past, stirring his dark locks into disarray. An odd sense of calm descended upon him and the blue blood allowed his eyes to drift shut again as he indulged in the moment of tranquility.

“Hey.” A warm hand landed heavily on his shoulder and his calm vanished in an instant.

Byakuya jumped, a curse escaping from his lips with a hiss; he gripped the iron railing so hard that he nearly bent his fingernails backwards.

“Holy shit,” an equally startled Abarai Renji exclaimed, waiting for the other’s death grip to flounder before turning the shorter man to face him.

“Damn it, Abarai,” the perturbed Kuchiki mustered, “will you stop sneaking up on me?”

“I didn’t sneak up at all,” Renji countered, “I stood there for a good minute calling your name and you didn’t budge.”

“Ah,” Byakuya kept his tone level, despite his mortification; he was shaking like a leaf, and the way the redhead kept running his hands over the captain’s quivering arms and shoulders only made him feel more foolish.

“Are you all right?” Amber eyes were wide with concern. “I’ve never seen you worked up like this before.”

“I am merely cold,” the noble lied effortlessly, even as he wondered at his reasons for doing so. _So much for not running away._

“Like hell,” Renji’s tattooed brows furrowed as he frowned. “You didn’t so much as flinch when you got shot. Why now, all of a sudden, are you spacin’ out and practically shittin’ yourself everytime somethin’ moves?”

“Abarai.” Byakuya’s icy tone of warning faltered; he was still trembling, and it took considerable effort not to hyperventilate as adrenaline coursed through his system.

“For fuck’s sake, Captain, I wanna help,” the redhead declared, gripping the noble’s sinewy shoulders as his voice took on a hint of desperation. “But I can’t do that if you won’t talk. Ya can’t just turn your phone off, disappear, and expect me not to worry.”

The pain writ over Renji’s handsome, angular face pierced him through the heart. The aristocrat suddenly wished he could shrink into his shoes and disappear.

_Why is it easier to rush headlong into mortal peril than to simply speak my mind? Have I always been this much of a coward? Even after swearing to do otherwise, I keep distancing myself from the man I -_

“Abarai, I…” Byakuya was unable to bear it and for the second time that night, he looked away, this time noticing the paint he’d dislodged from the wrought iron in his panic. A fleck of paint fell over the edge and into the darkened abyss of the downtown street as he considered the redhead’s unexpected reaction to his disappearance, an odd idea occurring to him. “Did you think that I would jump?”

“What? Not – well, I…” Renji fumbled, flustered, his hold on the inspector’s frame tightening. “Not you…you’re too strong for that, but not everyone is…”

The beleaguered captain whipped his head around, realization and horror dawning simultaneously.

“Oh, no, Renji…I am sorry.”

The redhead shook the apology off, relinquishing Byakuya’s shoulder long enough to gesture for a time-out.

“It’s all right – I mean, it’s not like I ever talk about it,” the tattooed man managed, voice and emotions under tenuous control. “By the time Mom jumped, I doubt she even knew what she was doing. She’d been doped up for so long, either with actual dope or the crap they pumped into her to make her ‘better’… “

Renji sighed, running his free hand over his face. “In a way she was dead long before she hit the ground, maybe for years, ya know?”

In an instant, Byakuya’s resolve crystalized; his own pain was obliterated by a desire to comfort the courageous, selfless man before him.

Unsure of how to proceed the noble did the first thing that came to mind, reaching out and clasping Renji’s hand as the young man’s eyes widened in shock. Byakuya pressed his lips to the redhead’s broad, warm palm before settling it against the arch of his cheekbone.

“Shit,” Renji swore, voice choked and rough. “I-I could get by without her, because I had to, see? But I don’t wanna just get by anymore.”

Byakuya turned, letting his eyelashes tickle calloused fingers, cool lips stealing warmth from the smoother skin of the lieutenant’s palm.

“It fuckin’ eats me alive when you withdraw,” the tattooed man confessed. “I know you’re nothing like her, but you get so distant…so sad…and I keep tryin,’ but I can’t make it better…”

“I don’t expect you to feel the same, or even to take me seriously, b-but – ” Renji forced himself to continue, even as a tear endeavored to roll down his cheek, “but don’t push me away. I don’t care if I’m invisible to everyone else, but I need you to see me.”

Their eyes met. Byakuya reached up, interrupting the saline trail with a gloved thumb.

_You are all that I see, Renji, and it frightens me...but not as much as being parted from you._

Extending his elegant neck he brushed his lips against the redhead’s warmer ones, praying that the sentiment he wished to convey was clear. The captain ignored the wind as it kicked up again, focused as he was on the strong arms that wrapped him into an embrace. Fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed, resting his head on Renji’s shoulder as he slipped his slender limbs around the redhead’s middle.  

Nose pressed close to a silky collar, Byakuya inhaled the sweet, spicy scent that he had come to crave, an aroma both soothing and intoxicating at once. His forbears would surely frown on such a display, though the niceties of courtly behavior seemed irrelevant at the moment; a long-suppressed impulse told him that it was good to offer solace, pleasure even…and that receipt of the same was no less acceptable.

The noble shifted a bit, kissing a small window of inked skin stretched taut over collarbone, gratified at the way Renji shivered as soft plumes of breath tickled his neck.

“Is it me?” The tall man suddenly wondered into onyx hair. “Am I doin’ somethin’ wrong?”

“No. The blame lies with me.” Byakuya’s eyes drifted closed, face hidden in the other’s leather jacket.

“Oh, that makes me feel _loads_ better,” Renji huffed against the captain’s scalp. “We’ve all done shit we ain’t proud of, but what’s the point of torturing yourself like this?”

_What, indeed? It is simply force of habit now; I never imagined my self-flagellation would harm you, too._  

“I wish I knew what was goin’ on in that head a’yours,” the lieutenant declared, bestowing a reverent kiss on Byakuya’s hair.

The captain managed a dry swallow as he considered Renji’s words, relishing the heat of the younger man’s embrace, the cadence of the heartbeat bounding against his own. It felt right, being there, and the situation struck him as funny and tragic in the same instant, as the rare instance of intimacy with another living soul was unlikely to ever be repeated.

“Renji,” the inspector began, elocution precise in his discomfort, “have I ever told you about my grandfather?”

 

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	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overworked, frustrated and freezing, Byakuya and Renji talk. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Eighteen_

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“I wish I knew what was goin’ on in that head a’yours,” Renji announced without expectation of an answer; he was content to enjoy the improbable, willing entanglement for as long as it took the taciturn captain to come back to himself and push him, the impudent subordinate, away.

He pressed his lips against Byakuya’s sweet-smelling hair and closed his eyes, trying to memorize every detail before it was withdrawn. The inspector’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down along his chest; Renji wanted to lick the pale flesh there, suck on the pulse point until the stoic man groaned under the pressure, but contented himself with the sensation of cartilage and tendons sliding under satin skin.

It was enough to be close to his beloved; perhaps he could ‘just get by,’ after all.

“Renji,” the inspector began, elocution precise in his discomfort, “have I ever told you about my grandfather?”

“Eh?” The inarticulate noise escaped him quickly. Byakuya had never discussed anyone of consequence with his common-born subordinate; had Renji not been conveniently bleeding out within earshot at the time of the blue blood’s confession, he’d not have heard about Hisana, either.

“I mean no, you haven’t,” Renji clarified as he regained coherency, loosening his hold on the captain enough to peek down at the older man.

The noble remained in contact with his shoulder and chest, content to speak into his torso, so the redhead blinked and tightened his grip on his superior’s willowy form.

“Kuchiki Ginrei…he was a high-powered lawyer, right?” The lieutenant recalled after a brief pause.

“Yes, and later an appellate court judge,” Byakuya continued, “who managed to find the time to raise his brat of a grandson.”

“Heh,” Renji grinned at the wry commentary, straining to imagine the tempestuous teenager that his superior had metamorphosed from.

“He was murdered in our home when I was nineteen.”

“Wait - what?” Renji held the smaller man at arm’s length in an instant, eyes wide as saucers and unable to believe his ears.

Byakuya’s heavy-lidded eyes betrayed nothing, shadow hair whipping around in the wind. It took Renji a moment to notice his crushing grip on the other’s shoulders, wincing as he released and then patted the delicate-appearing arms in apology.

“S-sorry,” the redhead stammered, ears and cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “ya startled me.”

“I can see that,” the Kuchiki commented evenly, expression blank.

_Shit, he’s closing himself off again. How did I fuck this up so quickly?_

“Sorry,” Renji repeated, reclaiming the inspector’s lapels with careful deliberation. “It’s just, ya never said anythin’…”

Byakuya let his gaze drop to the hands grasping his coat before lifting his chin to search his subordinate’s face.

“I am not in the habit of discussing such things, either.”

Biting his tongue to keep any further foolishness from spewing forth, the tattooed man thought for a moment before unclenching his jaw. _You’re always telling me to follow my instincts and play to my strengths, and saying stupid shit is somethin’ I’m really good at._

“Well, damn,” Renji trailed his fingers up the collar, then along woolen sleeves. “Can we start over? I’ll try not to act like a dumbass this time, and you can just smack me or somethin’ if I screw up again.”

Refined brows rose as the noble’s mask gave way, punctuated by a soft snort.

“I do hope that you are not in the habit of using this…technique… with suspects?”

“Yeah, right,” the redhead smiled sheepishly, “like I give a crap what any a’them think.”

Mirth gave way to astonishment in Byakuya’s eyes as his lieutenant hauled him back in, drawing the elder flush against his chest, position fixed with a stalwart grip.

“Now, then,” Renji continued, smoothing obsidian hair before resting his chin atop, “you were gonna tell me about your grandpa.”

The thirty or forty seconds felt like forever to the tattooed man; it was only when the tension left Byakuya’s frame that he could breathe again.

“A man of impeccable virtue, firm but fair,” the noble described. “Grandfather respected the traditions of our family, but did not summarily dismiss my…unconventional pursuits.”

Refraining from comment, Renji let a hand slide down to the small of the inspector’s back, tracing slow, soft circles there.

“He supported my study of the law, not to mention encouraging my dance instruction and performance.”

“That was awfully good of him,” the redhead decided before processing the rest of the information. “Wait, you studied law?”

“No. I was a within a year from finishing my undergraduate degree, though I had already completed the qualifying exam.”

“Geez, when did you start college? Twelve?”

“Abarai.”

“Sorry, consider me smacked. Anyway, how is wanting to be a lawyer ‘unconventional’?”

“Old, well-monied families frown on ‘working’ for a living, particularly when future heads-of-household evince an interest in pedestrian endeavors.”

“Oi, sounds like a nice bunch,” Renji quipped, rolling his eyes. “No wonder us regular folk got such a warm welcome.”

“Indeed,” Byakuya agreed with a heavy sigh, “though I am far from blameless on Rukia’s account, or yours. My grandfather was among the few to welcome my fiancée into the family, but his influence was not enough to discourage the constant stream of unattached debutantes presented at social functions.”

“That’s just sick,” the redhead declared.    

“Hence I stopped attending the parties,” Renji recognized the cool, quiet fury sublimated into an elegant monotone as the noble spoke, “as my time was better spent elsewhere.”

“Mmh,” the younger man grumbled, searching for an appropriate response. He palmed the straight, slender spine with a conciliatory touch. “And, uh, your granddad didn’t mind?”

“Oh, he minded,” the noble corrected, “but was kind enough to express his displeasure in private.”

“Right.” The vision of Byakuya on the receiving end of a stern talking-to cheered his lieutenant to an unreasonable degree, so the younger man bit his lips, arresting the chuckle in his throat.

“It was one such soiree that I avoided, citing an urgent need to rehearse for nationals.” The inspector paused, pulling back enough to turn and look out over the railing, dark eyes tracing a cityscape rendered flat and sterile in the moonlight. “In truth, it was intuition that guided my decision; certain that the reception would be a disaster, I elected to retreat to the safety of the private studio.”

A car alarm blared in the distance, weaving a jarring harmony with the wind.

“Considering the ungodly hour, I expected a drunken diatribe from a distant relative,” Byakuya continued, profile illuminated by the moon. “Needless to say, the phone call informing me that a disgruntled uncle shot Ojii-sama in his sleep… for a slighted reputation, of all things…came as a shock.”

Renji averted his eyes. The older man’s behavior during their lesson, strange reaction to the ringing phone, and ambivalence in simply crossing the threshold of the dance studio began to make sense.

“I would not have blamed Hisana for breaking off the engagement –even then, her health was tenuous – for the pall of his death hung heavily over the estate afterwards.”

“I sold the studio before the funeral, and changed my major as well; the prospect of following in his footsteps…” Byakuya’s polished monotone faltered. “The decision to remain at Kuchiki manor I made with a thought of penitence, though that, too, backfired; the atmosphere was suffocating to Hisana, who died within months of our wedding.”

The redhead swallowed against the tightness gripping his throat from the inside out.

_And so you’ve kept yourself locked up in that tomb of a mansion ever since, not breathing a word of this to anyone, waiting to fade and follow them._

Renji took another look at the flawless mask and distant eyes of his captain, then summoned just enough frustration to tamp down his anguish and find his voice.

“You ain’t the angel a’death, ya know.”

The noble was too astonished to keep his eyes from widening.

“Your spidey sense ain’t specific, ya said it yourself,” the tattooed man rebuked, turning Byakuya to face him. “Punishin’ yourself won’t bring ‘em back any more than waitin’ to die will.”

“I get it; it hurts like fuckin’ hell to lose someone,” Renji continued, rushing and butchering the words before he lost his nerve. “That’s why ya gotta stop. I got a claim on ya too, and I won’t just roll over and lose ya to grief.”

Without further ado he pulled Byakuya back into a bone-crushing hug, eyes closing at the gasped ‘Renji’ exhaled along his neck.

_I’ve no right to lay such a claim, but nothing good ever just fell into my lap, either._

He ran his bare hands over the other’s back, calming the tremors that shot through the captain’s slender form. It was fitting, Renji thought, that the only warm parts of their bodies were those pressed against each other, a few select areas protected from the buffeting wind.

When Byakuya finally raised his head, the quickly-shuttered expression of relief, gratitude, and something more fragile took the tattooed man’s breath away. Their cold noses collided; lips rendered stiff and awkward in the unforgiving gale came alive when joined together.

_So fucking soft..._

It boggled his mind that the noble’s stern, eloquent mouth could also be pliant, indulgent. Inky locks whipped around them, tickling his nose with the scent of spring, forcing his eyelids shut. His desire to see thwarted, Renji raised a hand to let his thick fingers trace the other’s face, smooth and majestic as marble but with a promise of warmth waiting just beneath the surface.

_I’ve no right to do this…_

His digits continued their survey greedily, hurriedly, as if sure to be caught sullying the sacred surface with unwashed and unworthy hands. He groaned when Byakuya’s grip on his collar tightened.

_…but I just can’t help myself._

They fit together perfectly in Renji’s estimation; his arm curled around the narrow waist without effort or thought, tongue delving deep into slick heat before finally coming up for air. A pristine set of teeth nipped him as he withdrew, bequeathing a playful scrape along salty skin.

“Damn,” the redhead chuckled as clouds of frosted breath billowed between them.

Renji stared at his thumb as he ran it over the blue blood’s cheek before tracing a plumped bottom lip. “Is it too late to ask for the next dance?”

“I will grant you a rain check,” Byakuya uttered just above a whisper, “as I am rather weary tonight.”

“Rain check? R-really?” The younger man stuttered in surprise. “You’d be willin’ to do that…with me…in public?”

“Of course; at least one couple in this organization ought to be able to muster a decent rumba.”

The glint of good humor in the noble’s eyes did not escape notice; though his face was aching with cold, Renji managed a bright grin as he kissed his captain’s nose.

“Couple,” the redhead echoed, bringing their foreheads together. “I like the sound of that.”

“Mmm.” Byakuya’s alabaster eyelids were closed, the mask of idyllic repose again in place.

“Well, guess there’s no point in freezin’ our asses off up here,” Renji decided, lips brushing against each lid in turn. “I can take you home if you’re too tired to drive.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the smaller man put a few more centimeters between them, “though I will not yet be returning to the manor.”

The tattooed man brushed a swath of midnight hair out of the inspector’s face.

“Please tell me you’re not goin’ back to the office.” Renji’s smile deflated a bit.

“I have some things to attend to which are best handled promptly.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant scratched a tattooed brow. “Anythin’ I should know about?”

“I would prefer you take the evening to enjoy the company of your friends,” Byakuya smoothly slid his hands into deep woolen pockets. “We can discuss things over breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Renji repeated, not expecting the invitation, nor for it to be phrased in the form of a question. “Sounds awesome.”

“Very well.” The Homicide chief stepped around his subordinate, leading the way back to the door.

“But I’m still gonna walk ya to your car.”

“If you insist,” Byakuya arched an eyebrow but did not slow his steps.

“Trust me, I will,” Renji beamed, catching up quickly with his longer stride, “and I also insist that ya turn your phone back on.”

“Oh?” The noble stopped and spun on his heel to shoot his subordinate an unimpressed look.

“Gotcha.”

The redhead captured a frigid earlobe between his teeth, tugging on it with a growl and a wicked grin.

“You are absolutely incorrigible,” Byakuya chastised while his eyes fluttered shut, hand frozen on the door.

“And irresistible, don’t forget irresistible,” Renji licked up along the arc of the helix, punctuating his comment by burying his nose in smoky hair as he reached for the knob.

“I will not be held responsible if your tongue gets stuck in an awkward position, Abarai.”

Silence followed, which soon shattered with the poorly concealed laughter directed behind Byakuya’s ear.

“Woah, I ain’t even got to your flagpole yet,” Renji snorted, embracing the mortified man with one arm while opening the door with the other.

“Not another word,” the noble commanded calmly as he broke free and descended the stairs, leaving the redhead trailing behind him, chuckling and loping down into the dark.

 

* * *

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* * *

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Breakfast did not go according to plan." Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Nineteen_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Hey assholes, how ya doin?”

Two figures turned as one in the parking lot at Renji’s shout, the early morning light glinting off Madarame’s head as he pivoted.

“My, my, someone’s in a good mood today,” Ayasegawa Yumichika commented with a polite yawn, flicking his hair back as Ikkaku grumbled unintelligibly.

“It helps to not be hungover, for once,” the redhead gained on them, tucking his motorcycle helmet under a leather-clad arm. “Though it doesn’t look like y’all faired that well.”

“We’ll survive,” the foppish man smiled, patting his partner’s back consolingly. “What’s the occasion?”

“For what, being sober or on time?”

“Both, I imagine,” Yumichika clarified.

“We’ve got drills today,” Ikkaku chimed in, grimacing at the sound of his own voice, “or there’s no way in hell I’d be up this early.”

“I think we’ve finally got a lead,” Renji couldn’t keep the ecstatic twinkle out of his eye, “or at least something worth talking about over breakfast.”

The S.W.A.T. officers stopped dead in their tracks.

“What?”

The redhead felt his mirth challenged by the look exchanged between his former squad mates.

“Told you so,” Ayasegawa cooed, to which Madarame rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you guys too,” Renji grumbled and started to turn away.

“But we lead such boring lives –” Yumi began.

“-and you’re usually so fuckin’ hopeless,” Ikkaku finished.

“You guys can go screw yourselves,” the tattooed man announced before running smack dab into a rippling column of muscle. Head spinning a bit, Renji looked up into the fiendish grin of Zaraki Kenpachi.

“All screwin’ can wait till ya get home, girls,” the demon cackled as the redhead stumbled backwards. “Except for you, Red; smart money says you’ll bag the princess in the office.”

Renji’s jaw dropped as the trio of S.W.A.T. operatives burst into laughter.

“Damn, kid, you’re too easy,” Kenpachi chuckled and grabbed the homicide lieutenant’s shoulder, steering him towards the ground-level entry to headquarters. “C’mon, we’ll get ya ta Snow White safe n’sound.”

“I hate all of you.”

“Oh, Abarai, ‘hate’ is such an unbeautiful word,” Yumichika could not banish the laughter from his voice. “I would think you’d be more mindful of aesthetic appeal, given your circumstances.”

Renji shot him a non-plussed look. “Eh?”

“Try to keep your inner Neanderthal under wraps,” Ayasegawa clarified, “at least at certain…critical moments.”

“Might as well get a brain transplant,” the bald man muttered as he opened the door.

Renji sighed. “That’s about right; it’s easier just to be an idiot up front and apologize later.”

“Animal magnetism can compensate for a great deal, I suppose,” Yumichika eyed him appraisingly. “Though –”

“Don’t even go there,” Ikkaku interrupted. “It’s waaaay too damned early for your fashionista routine.”

Madarame’s flamboyant lover gave him an ‘ _I’ll deal with you later’_ glare and swept past him, hips swishing sharply in annoyance.

“I need some fucking coffee,” Ikkaku broke off towards the break room as Renji deposited his helmet in a rusty locker.

As much as he enjoyed early morning machismo-laden taunting, Renji had hoped to ditch his ‘escort’ and greet his captain privately; beyond sparing the quiet man the irritation of dealing with the goon squad, the redhead was a bit worried of what he would find in their workplace.

_It might be nothin,’ but…_

The lieutenant was certain he’d seen the light on in the office when cruising by in the wee hours - _not_ _stalking, just checking on him_ – and he feared that his illustrious inspector might be asleep at his desk.

_…I’m used to bein’ a punchline, and I want better for you._

Renji rounded the corner with the S.W.A.T. triumvirate at his heels.

_Eh, it’s not like you can’t hold your own against these jerks; you put up with me all the time, and you barely blink when Zaraki-keibu pulls shit that would give anybody else a freaking coronary._

They were almost to the homicide division when he noticed the men approaching from the opposite end of the hallway; his captain, still swathed in coat and scarf, and a pleasantly bedraggled Urahara strolling along and chirping at the quiet detective.

Sighing with relief the redhead reached out to turn the knob, unconcerned by the fact that it was unlocked. In an instant he was pushed back, a warm body sliding in between him and the door as it creaked open slowly.

_Damn, he’s fast_ , Renji mused as sleek black hair swept in front of him, the Kuchiki’s subtle scent making him smile. In another moment, though, a much more…potent… fragrance hit his nostrils, and his jaw dropped for the second time that morning.

“What…the hell…” the tattooed man wondered aloud as his office came into view.

Every surface of the normally subdued space was covered in flowers.

Though not overly knowledgeable about the plant kingdom, Renji could identify a few of the blooms crowding his work space; large bouquets of ruby roses and graceful, pale lilies obscured the planes of their desks. Hanging baskets were suspended a bit precariously from the support beams of the drop-tile ceiling, each container bearing leafy shrubs bursting with rows of tiny, bell-shaped blooms. Until that moment, he’d never conceived that the mere presence of a plant could be menacing.

_That’s…is that ashibi? Shit!_

Dazed with the realization he let his eyes drift aimlessly to the floor, where the ancient linoleum was layered in a carpet of blood-red rose petals, some of which swirled and fluttered in diminutive eddies as the opening door created a breeze. 

“Wow, love what you guys’ve done with the place,” Kisuke murmured, eyes unusually wide as he surveyed the blooms.

Renji registered half-curious, half-amused comments emanating from his former colleagues as he gave the room another once-over, struggling to make sense of the strange scene, before he finally realized what was missing.

“Shit! My computer’s gone!” The redhead exclaimed, amber eyes continuing their journey and judging that Byakuya’s laptop had also vanished…and that a large, festively wrapped box stood in the laptop’s stead.

_This is the weirdest damned break-in I’ve ever heard of,_ Renji decided as he tried to analyze the evidence. _There’s no way Captain forgot to lock the door…and Aizen’s favorite flower ain’t in there by accident, either._

He recalled the signs of activity in their office as he drove by hours before and winced.

_Crap. I had assumed Kuchiki-keibu was still here, but that must have been when they made their move. How the hell are those bastards always one step ahead?_

Another thought occurred to the tattooed man as he stared at the package on Byakuya’s desk.

_I wonder what Aizen’s playing at, going to all this trouble; why bother sneaking around for a couple of computers? Is it just to fuck with us? Hell, they coulda just ambushed Captain -_

And in that moment, fear and fury twisted in the redhead’s gut, tightening his jaw.

_No fucking way you’ll lay a finger on him again, you bastards._

It was too much. Renji burst forward to assess the threat and examine the room in person –

-and was blocked by the deceptively slender arm of Kuchiki Byakuya.

The lieutenant had been too distracted to notice how the captain had been literally holding him back, or that the smaller man was trembling and had broken out in a cold sweat. Renji marveled at the tiny beads of perspiration standing on the pale, smooth forehead; had he not been poring over the other’s face, he wouldn’t have deciphered what the Kuchiki was whispering.

“Was it enough?” The stoic man barely breathed, eyes wide and staring at nothing. “Are they all right?”

_Oh, no._

He’d heard those words before; Byakuya had repeated them endlessly after he’d been shot, a feverish, semi-conscious mantra during the awful moments before he was taken to emergent surgery. It wasn’t hard for Renji to work out the contents of his superior’s flashback, nor what triggered it, but the realization only made it that much more excruciating to witness. 

_I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll rip Aizen apart with my bare hands for what he’s done to you._

“It’s okay,” Renji murmured instead, doing his best to block his captain from the onlookers behind them. “Everyone is fine.”

_Is this is why you’ve been so damned jumpy? I’m sorry that I didn’t get it before…that it took something like this for me to understand._

“It’s okay,” the younger man repeated, hoping he was right.

“Ah,” the Kuchiki gasped as he came back to the present, leaning imperceptibly into the sturdy, broad-shouldered man to the rear.

_Can’t we ever get a fucking break?_

The tattooed man turned his head and swore, as if attempting to shield his superior from this last indignity. As the foul words crossed his lips he felt the noble regain the implacable poise and incisive aura that made his skin tingle, familiar and enthralling all at once.

“Urahara-sensei,” Byakuya’s placid baritone suddenly spilled into the hallway, eyes fixed on the garish package occupying his desk. “Would you be so kind as to call the bomb squad?”

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Breakfast did not go according to plan.

With little direct experience for comparison, Renji had entertained a hodgepodge of fanciful notions about sharing a meal outside the office with his austere captain, all of which had little to do with work and replete with details that made his toes curl in anticipation.

Thus the redhead stabbed at his sausage rather savagely with a fork, channeling his disappointment into the meat despite his subdued appetite.  It wasn’t the food’s fault – he liked a Western breakfast as much as anybody – but the loss of what could have been made the meal difficult to force down.

The dozen or so S.W.A.T. operatives to his right had no such qualms, tucking in and talking loudly with their mouths full.

“Hey, Iba, pass the salt,” Ikkaku requested, leaning halfway across the table as the burly Vice lieutenant laid hands on the shaker.

“Thank you,” Yumichika supplied as his partner snatched up the salt, to which the man wearing sunglasses nodded.

“Not hungry?” Tetsuzaemon inquired as Renji poked at his plate.

“Meh,” the redhead uttered, shoving a pile of hashbrowns into his mouth.

“Could be worse,” the mustached man decided as he poured ketchup onto his eggs. “Last time there was a bomb threat, we were all corralled in that vacant lot for what, two hours?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Renji groaned as he scrunched his eyes shut. “My freakin’ hair froze, it was so damned cold.”

Komamura-keibu, who sat across from them in the crowded pub, nodded in remembrance. “We are all fortunate that Kyouraku-keishi-chō makes the best of an unfortunate situation.” 

A number of glasses and mugs were raised, orange juice, coffee and tea sloshing in the spontaneous salute.

“At ease, guys,” Shunsui waved them off as he sipped from his mug. “Eat up before your food gets cold.”

Thus a quarter of the district’s finest went back to their meal, compliments of the Chief Superintendent, on the occasion of being unable to enter headquarters due to a bomb threat. The establishment’s proprietor swept through, topping off coffee and clearing plates silently.

“Thanks, Tessai,” Kisuke winked at the restaurateur and shoved a bill into his apron as the bespectacled man rolled his eyes and moved away. “So, still convinced that security is flawless?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kurotsuchi Mayuri rasped, stirring brown sugar into his oatmeal. “No system is perfect; my point was simply that the firewall is not to blame. Clearly Soi-fon agrees with me, or she wouldn’t be interrogating last night’s security staff.”

“That’s not much of a litmus test,” Urahara countered as his finger circled the rim of his juice glass.

“I’ll grant you that,” the Research and Development chief admitted. He dumped a saucer of raisins into the bowl before pouring milk in after it. “As soon as the building is cleared, my men will start manually checking every centimeter of wiring within the network, as there may be a simpler explanation for the breach.”    

“Ooh, old-fashioned splice n’dice?”

“Tch,” Mayuri rolled his golden eyes. “Yes, perhaps. Rest assured that we will identify and remedy the problem promptly.”

“Marvelous,” Shunsui opined, draining his drink which undoubtedly contained more than coffee.

“Well, let’s hear the juicy details,” Kisuke gestured, waving a fork yet keeping the scrambled egg skewered there intact. “What was worth burning the midnight oil over?”

Renji’s knife pierced the skin of a sausage link and screeched along his plate. His claret eyes flicked to his captain who sat straight and still, elegant fingers cradling a small cup of green tea.

“Suitable venues for the disposal of remains,” was Byakuya’s concise reply, which prompted a few officers to drop their utensils and a few more to aspirate portions of their beverages.

_Nice_ , the redhead grinned and took another bite. If the noble was still disturbed by their office overhaul, he betrayed no evidence of it whatsoever.

“Going the ‘do-it-yourself’ route?” Urahara ventured, flaxen eyebrows rising slightly.

“Hardly. I was merely conducting a brief, preliminary search…via a _secure_ connection,” the homicide captain emphasized for Kurotsuchi’s benefit, “for possible processing sites.”

“Processing...” Renji set down his utensil and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “As in… _meat_ processing?”

Byakuya’s barely-there nod had a few more operatives pausing in their repast. The redhead’s appetite hovered on the verge of disappearing when he noticed the subtle upturn of the noble’s lips, almost as if he were enjoying sabotaging the interdepartmental meal.

_Oh._

Renji’s cinnamon eyes strayed to Ikkaku and Yumichika, whose consumption had slowed, and recalled their conversation in the parking lot that morning.

_Captain must know about the office pool by now. Ruining everyone’s appetite by discussing the case over breakfast…that type of revenge is a little subtle for my tastes, but it’s fucking brilliant._

If it meant grossing out his meathead colleagues and defending his superior’s honor in one fell swoop, Renji was all for it.

_Do you have any idea how much I love you?_

He had no idea if Byakuya was telling the truth about his late-night activities or not, but for the moment, he didn’t care. The tattooed man summoned his best poker face and resumed the conversation.

“So we’re talkin’ what, meat packing plants, garbage dumps, funeral homes?”

Cool grey eyes flicked in his direction, a spark of mischief therein.

“Very good, Abarai-keibu-ho,” the placid man nodded as Renji’s heart leapt at the public compliment. “We should also consider industries handling hazardous materials, or that employ large-scale incinerators or refrigeration units.”

“Hmm,” the lieutenant mustered a contemplative expression, “so Aizen and cronies would have an easy way to make biowaste disappear. Should we check out the local medical schools…for the body parts, at least?”

“Absolutely,” the Kuchiki affirmed. “There are a few distilleries in the industrial corridor which merit investigation as well, as they have well-equipped laboratories -”

“Which might be where the cooklabs are,” Renji finished, fighting a smile when Kyouraku paused with a drink at his lips. “Oh, I almost forgot rendering plants.”

At that point, the only officers still eating were impervious-to-body-fluids Urahara and Zaraki Kenpachi, who had tuned out all conversation after his food was placed on the table.

“Rendering?” Iba asked with obvious reluctance as he repositioned his sunglasses.

“Ya know,” the redhead began with enthusiasm, “where they haul dead livestock off to? Places stink to high heaven but they turn out some neat stuff like hides, bone meal, fatty goop that they turn into haircare products…”

Renji heard the distinctive tinkle of the tiny bells atop Zaraki’s spiked hair as the giant of a man looked up abruptly; the tattooed man had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. He stole a quick glance at Byakuya whose ivory eyelids had drooped closed in amusement.

“You boys missed your calling,” Kisuke declared, keen eyes darting between the homicide detectives as he chuckled into his coffee.

“I hope you backed up your data,” Kurotsuchi mentioned as he sprinkled nutmeg onto his oatmeal before finally digging in.

“Naturally,” Byakuya rebuffed him with a hint of disdain while Renji inwardly panicked.

_Oh, shit. I never do that unless Captain hassles me…_

The tattooed man was about to confess his IT indiscretion when a narrow foot nudged his own.

“Hrm,” Renji choked; it wasn’t quite the type of footplay he’d hoped for, but he made do and fought the urge to look under the table and verify that he wasn’t hallucinating. 

“Though the theft of our computers defies logic,” the Kuchiki continued, unruffled. “The reports your department compiled contain publicly available statistics and had only been uploaded to the tablet, which is not network connected.” 

“You still have the iPad?” Mayuri claimed another spoonful.

The homicide inspector inclined his head, tapping a tapered finger on the coat pocket where the computer was concealed, a gesture visible only to his lieutenant.

_Did you think this would happen?_

As the gears of his mind whirred Renji’s legs had wandered, falling open until his knee settled against Byakuya’s thigh. The dapper man straightened imperceptibly yet remained in contact with his lieutenant, rendering it difficult for the redhead to make sense of his superior’s reaction.

_Of course you did,_ Renji surmised as he stared at the plate before him, hand itching to land on the inspector’s leg. _This whole time you’ve been worried about a security breach, and with a major breakthrough underway, you took steps to expose the leak before moving on any new information._

The tattooed man recalled Byakuya’s words from the previous evening.

_“I have some things to attend to which are best handled promptly.”_

Renji frowned and reached for his coffee. Having assumed his offer to drive the noble home was refused on grounds of propriety, the realization that he’d been kept out of the loop on purpose further chafed at his embattled pride.

_What is it gonna take for you to treat me as a real partner? What’s the point of havin’ an indestructible idiot like me around if you won’t let me help you?_  

He blew on the strong brew before sipping it, the bitter finish bringing his brows together.

_I swear to God, I won’t let you get away again; I’ll handcuff us together if I have to._

Renji’s hand slid around to the back of his waistband to verify said handcuffs were available before his brain became aware of the action. He looked around to see Ayasegawa Yumichika wink at him with a knowing smile.

_It’s gonna be a long fuckin’ day…_

“Wow, the Metropolitan’s finest hard at work, I see,” quipped a lanky man with a blond bowl cut as he strolled to the head of the table.

“Eh, ya come to steal more suspects?” Kenpachi grinned as Shinji slid onto a seat.

“You wish,” the federal agent grumbled, squeezing between Ise Nanao and the Chief Superintendent. “I heard somebody got a candy-gram this morning?”

“That’s right,” Renji snapped at the bait and brandished a broad smile. “We’re getting’ more members of the Homicide Fan Club every day. Wanna join?”

“You’re not my type,” Hirako snorted, prompting more amused twittering from the S.W.A.T. end of the table. “So, I heard you got something for me?”

“Indeed,” Kuchiki-keibu handed over a thumb drive, “though it remains to be seen if it prompted our office break-in or not.”

“Great,” Shinji yawned and peered into an empty mug. “I’m glad something besides drama has come up in this case.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Renji muttered under his breath as side conversations broke out, giving the higher-ranked officers more privacy in the crowded pub.

“Though I gotta say it’s all pretty convenient, the way things have turned out,” Agent Hirako went on, nodding as a waitress poured his coffee.

“Convenient? How’s that?” The tattooed man pivoted his upper body to stare at Shinji in disbelief. “It’s been just one weird thing after another since the first call came in.”

“I’m not making light of that,” the blond sighed. “My point is, a couple of weeks ago we had bupkes beyond six dead bodies-”

“Yeah, and now we’ve got six stiffs, computers and guns gone missing, and our office could explode any minute,” Renji uttered just above a growl, _not to mention Captain havin’ a meltdown in front of a live audience._   

“Easy, Abarai-kun,” Shunsui counseled in a mellow baritone. “I think Agent Hirako’s point is that things could be much worse, and that your inspector’s theory of an ally reaching out from within Aizen’s organization might have been validated by the flower-bombing.”

“Face it, if that murderous bastard wanted you guys dead, or to raze headquarters to the ground, it would have happened already,” Shinji continued, going out of his way to make eye contact with the unsettled Abarai-keibu-ho. “For all we know, we’re still just dancing on the ends of strings Aizen is pulling...so if anything useful comes of all this, it’s a big freaking deal.”

“I’m inclined to agree with our big-shot friend here,” Kisuke winked as Hirako-san rolled his eyes. “Had a flower fairy not broken into your office, there would be nothing warrant-worthy in the sprawling conspiracy uncovered by the insightful Kuchiki-kun, am I right, Chris?”

Stark nodded, bearded chin propped up on his knuckles. “True enough. You’ll still have to narrow things down substantially from this nebulous wish list of yours, but the attack on headquarters and the investigation thereof will give you some leverage when you go before a judge.”

“Now, if we can just come up with a short list of serial florists, we’ll be set,” Shinji declared drolly. “What does it take to get a menu in here?”

“Hirako-san.”

Byakuya’s understated exclamation made his lieutenant jump and practically run his leg along the captain’s slender shin.

“I believe a florist may be _exactly_ the profile requiring your attention.”

“Really?” Shinji and Kisuke raised their eyebrows simultaneously.

“There are four large warehouses in the industrial sector that are associated with floral shops,” the noble-born captain began.

“They would have refrigerated storage space, and a steady stream of insulated trucks and train cars going through,” Renji continued, “with both domestic shipments and imports rolling in.”

“While there are undoubtedly other ‘contractors’ involved in meeting the cartel’s needs, these four clearinghouses would be a good starting point for the investigation,” Byakuya recommended, giving the redhead a slight nod of approval.

“Hmm,” Shinji accepted a menu from a passing Tessai and perused it with a guarded expression. “It wouldn’t be the strangest lead I’ve ever had, I’ll grant you that.”

“While you’re at it, can I get you to pick up some roses -” Kyouraku began with a twinkle in his eye, which vanished as soon as Nanao’s head turned toward him. “What?”

“If I never see another rose, it might be too freakin’ soon,” Renji sighed to himself, disheartened – he’d have to concoct some other romantic gesture for his dapper captain, ideally a non-traumatic one for both their sake.

“Speaking of that,” Shunsui didn’t miss a beat as he addressed the homicide detectives, “you two can take the day; the rest of the week will depend on whether Kukaku can avoid collateral damage to your division or not.”

“Knowing Shiba-keibu, we ought to start assembling a field office,” Byakuya murmured so that only his subordinate could hear.

Renji snorted and patted his inspector’s knee under the table, unaware of how or when his hand arrived at that location but unwilling to retreat back into his own space. The Kuchiki remained imperturbable by outward appearances, so the tattooed man remained where he was with the most neutral expression in his arsenal.

“We’ll have some uniforms tail you boys for now,” the Chief Superintendent continued despite the disapproving looks aimed his way by the pair, “so it would be great if you could stay out of trouble for a little bit.”

Byakuya’s censure was palpable, like an electric current arcing beneath the redhead’s calloused fingers.

“If it’s trouble you’re worried about,” Zaraki’s gravelly voice suddenly chimed in, “I can help ya out with that.”

All heads turned towards the S.W.A.T. commander; even Kurotsuchi paused with a spoon of oatmeal hovering before his lips.

“We’ve got field exercises today. I could use a couple more warm bodies, as I got guys out with the flu,” Kenpachi explained with a grin that made Renji nervous. “We’ll keep you gals safe n’sound.”

“While you’re shootin’ at us,” the tattooed man grumbled as his superior loosed a soft sigh.

“Great! It’s decided, then,” Shunsui cooed and swigged his coffee. “Just remember to play nice…or all bets are off.”

Renji doubted that the Superintendent’s word choice was coincidental; the only hint of the Kuchiki’s indignation was the emphatic _clink_ of his empty teacup on the table. The redhead wasn’t surprised when Byakuya’s hands slipped into his lap, but he was beyond shocked when one of those hands moved over and gently squeezed his own.

_I swear to you, if I live to see the end of this day…_

Running his thumb along the expensive silky fabric of the Kuchiki’s suit, Renji turned his wrist and grasped the fine-boned hand of his beloved, the most intimacy they could muster in a bar full of coworkers.  

_…handcuffs or no, neither one of us is going home alone tonight._

* * *

**:*:*:**


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The homicide detectives have a field day, courtesy of the S.W.A.T. team. Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_All heads turned towards the S.W.A.T. commander; even Kurotsuchi paused with a spoon of oatmeal hovering before his lips._

_“We’ve got field exercises today. I could use a couple more warm bodies, as I got guys out with the flu,” Kenpachi explained with a grin that made Renji nervous. “We’ll keep you gals safe n’sound.”_

_“While you’re shootin’ at us,” the tattooed man grumbled as his superior loosed a soft sigh._

_“Great! It’s decided, then,” Shunsui cooed and swigged his coffee. “Just remember to play nice…or all bets are off.”_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“All right, Abarai, what’s the plan?”

Renji looked over at the cheery visage of Ayasegawa Yumichika and drew a blank. The redhead was panting, roasting one moment and shivering the next, muddy up to the knee and with the majority of his hair plastered to his face. The borrowed, too-narrow boots fit no better after three hours in the snow, nor did Madarame’s sweats allow his longer limbs full range of motion.  Special Weapons and Tactics drills had not grown easier over time.

“Plan?” _I barely know which way is up right now, much less what comes next._ “What plan?”

“Oh, don’t be daft,” the petite officer rolled his eyes.

“He can’t help it,” Ikkaku spat into the snow before addressing the redhead directly. “What Yumi means is, what’ve you got cooked up for your hot date tonight, Casanova?”

“Eh?” Renji blinked at the S.W.A.T. couple, unprepared for that line of questioning. “Um…”

“Abarai,” Ayasegawa sighed, retrieving bottled water from his cargo pant pocket. “Do you honestly believe that Kyouraku-keishi-chō gave you time off just to go sit on your hands?”

Indulging in another deep inhalation, the tattooed man wiped sweaty hair out of his eyes. “No, I guess not. This is all about the office betting pool, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re really being daft, jackass,” Madarame shook his head and sat on a stack of tires. “This isn’t just about spending money changing hands over your love life.”

“Great,” Renji coughed and toed a rock with his boot. “Care to enlighten me, then?”

“Aizen’s shit affected everyone on the force; there wasn’t a single one of us, from top brass to the new recruits, that didn’t wonder if they would be next…or if their family, their partner would end up dead or missing.” Ikkaku’s eyes met Yumichika’s as he spoke. “Even after the bastard ‘disappeared,’ I’d say most municipal cops didn’t believe he was dead, and have just been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It’s been a long two years,” Ayasegawa continued his lover’s thought, “and not much good news has come out of that debacle; Major Case imploded after Aizen left, Momo still hasn’t recovered, Kira still hasn’t found a partner, et cetera. For as fervently as you and Kuchiki-keibu tried to end each other, we considered it a small miracle that a truce was declared, much less that you would finally confess your undying affection.”

“Is that what happened?” Renji muttered to himself, eyes fixed on the stark contrast between dark soil, muddy boots and patches of gleaming snow. _Most days I feel like I’m just chasing after him and tripping over my feet; if I said anything right in that mess, it was completely by accident._

“Now that it looks like Aizen is really back, guys need an outlet…or at least something to talk about that isn’t all gloom and doom, so don’t get your pants in a bunch about it – it isn’t just about you.” Ikkaku accepted the water bottle from his petite partner, giving the tattooed man a sidelong glance. “That said, you guys look like a couple of zombies, living outta the office and getting twitchy over shadows. This is a chance to get your head on straight and make some progress, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Renji eyed the tree line absently. “It isn’t like I haven’t thought about it, but all hell breaks loose every time I get close…”

“Hence the license to play hooky,” Yumichika explained patiently. “I estimate you have at least twenty uninterrupted hours, possibly more, to do what you will, and I’m willing to put my expertise to work in helping you formulate an appropriate strategy.”

“Capiche?” Madarame arched an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Renji exhaled. “I could probably use the help.”

“Brainstorming starts now, gentlemen.” Ayasegawa turned into the wind, shaking his hair back into perfect alignment. “We have five minutes before we’re due on the next course, so let’s have it.”

“Roses are out,” the tattooed man mourned as his eyes closed briefly.

“Uh, yeah,” Ikkaku blinked at him in disbelief, “at least for a few weeks.”

“Coffee…” the homicide detective continued, monotone withering into a slightly desperate plea, “…jazz club…art gallery?”

“And where do the handcuffs come in?” Yumichika posited with an even look and carefully suppressed chuckle as Madarame guffawed outright and Renji sputtered in shock. In the distance a shot fired, the blast muffled by the trampled blanket of snow.

The redhead bit his lip. He was unaccustomed to such… _premeditation_ …in approaching his superior officer, and he found the current conversation more than a little awkward; despite a clear idea of how the evening ought to end, the path to achieving that result was anything but obvious.

_Damn it, Ren, don’t choke now,_ he admonished himself. _I’m so close I can almost taste it._

That particular line of thought did not help Renji’s focus. The other men’s voices faded to the background as his mouth went dry, his prolific imagination supplying a scenario of the Kuchiki heir tumbling with him into the snow. 

“Ice skating,” the redhead suddenly blurted, releasing the idea lodged solidly in his subconscious.      

Yumichika’s eyes sparkled in the low winter light as he reached for his stowed smartphone.

“Abarai Renji, there is hope for you after all,” Yumi smirked as he scrolled through the contacts before selecting one with flourish.

* * *

****:*:*:** **

* * *

Well away from the rest of the S.W.A.T. team, two men in black jumpsuits lay prone before a vast expanse of snow and barren trees.

“Whatdya think?”

Byakuya squeezed the trigger again and watched through the scope as a clay pigeon exploded at eight-hundred meters.

“Very little recoil,” the homicide captain judged, eyes roaming appreciatively over the shiny new rifle. “Where and how did you acquire this monstrous weapon?”

“Heh,” Zaraki-keibu flashed a genuine smile. “There are times it pays to be a beta-tester, I tell you what. This beauty isn’t set to hit the market for another year or so. Try the far target.”

Adjusting his goggles before settling against the scope again, the smaller man exhaled slowly before firing off another round.

“Not bad at fifteen-hundred meters, though she’s rated for at least 1,800. She’s easier to lug around than the M82, and the stationary barrel cuts the recoil down considerably,” Kenpachi continued with a degree of fondness reserved for family members and only the most lethal of weapons.

Byakuya propped up on an elbow with a curious look. “This is the XM500?”

“Yep. My turn.”

The noble handed over the large black sniper rifle before turning his attention back down range.

“This fits into your budget how, exactly?”

“That’s the beauty of it, sweetheart,” Zaraki settled onto his stomach and adjusted the sights. “It’s ‘on loan’ while I try it out, and they’ll eventually donate it to the force in exchange for my expert feedback.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, stuff it,” the S.W.A.T. commander grumbled at Byakuya’s dubious expression.

“I was merely thinking how fortunate it is that you need not justify having this weapon outside a combat zone,” the aristocrat clarified, only an arched eyebrow betraying his amusement.

“My unit’s purpose is to be prepared for combat, Princess,” Kenpachi retorted and pulled the trigger, blowing a limb off of a dead tree at nearly two kilometers. “If I wait to request equipment until I’m sure I’ll need it, cops wind up dead.”

Byakuya conceded the point with an inclination of his head, quietly impressed by both the shot and the weapon.

“Will your men have the opportunity to practice with this rifle?”

“Hell no,” Zaraki replied without hesitation. “I’ll let the ranking officers have a go eventually, but there’s no way some noob that can’t hit the broad side of a barn with a bus, much less a service weapon, is getting his mitts on this beauty.”

“I see.” It was as close to a compliment as would ever be exchanged between them. “In that case, might I inquire as to why my lieutenant and I were invited to your squad drills?”

“Kid was gonna flip his lid,” Kenpachi sighted another target and squeezed off a round. “I figured he’d be better off exercising than punching a hole in a wall.”

“Hmm.” Though the argument was sound, the homicide detective remained skeptical; the S.W.A.T. team typically welcomed Renji with open arms to any and all events, but the same could not be said for the redhead’s aloof captain.

After the remaining clay pigeons were slaughtered and several more limbs were excised from their native trees, Zaraki shifted into seiza while cleaning the oversized rifle. Byakuya set his safety goggles and hearing protection aside and cleared his throat.

“Kenpachi.”

Golden eyes met gray at the unexpected exclamation.

The grizzled man sighed and set the scope aside. “I needed to be sure you could handle the noise of a gunshot without losin’ your shit, okay?”

“I see.” Surprise registered on Byakuya’s face just long enough for the other man to notice.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Between S.W.A.T. and Special Forces, I’ve seen my share of shell shock,” Kenpachi continued to disassemble the gun. “I don’t care if my guys piss themselves each and every mission, as long as they don’t freeze up…and they do their own laundry.”

The younger man said nothing and kept his gloved hands from clenching noticeably on his knees.

“I’m not gonna tattle on ya,” Zaraki closed the case housing the rifle and sat back on his heels. “If you wanna get off your ass and work on getting better, Retsu could fit you in over lunch most days.”

The Kuchiki continued to sit as still and expressionless as a statue, suddenly bereft of all feeling and detached from his surroundings.

“But if you decide to keep on as you are, don’t kid yourself,” the scarred man went on. “You won’t just be throwing yourself a pity party; you’ll be putting your team at risk and dragging Abarai into your misery, and you know damn well how he’ll take it.”

 Byakuya’s stomach turned at the words. _Yes, I know quite well; Renji will blame himself, and when he feels guilty and low, he is reckless…and when he is reckless, he gets hurt._ His eyelids drifted shut as a wave of nausea swept over him. _I would rather die than see him hurt again._

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and only freak out around flowers,” Kenpachi lifted his square jaw to stare at the other critically. “But if I were you, I’d figure out a better way to protect people than taking bullets for them.”

The noble found himself standing, ears ringing and head spinning slightly as a swift breeze tousled his hair.

“Is that all?” Byakuya asked in a remarkably calm tone as he turned his back on Kenpachi.

“Yep. If you’re gonna wander, try not to cut across the shooting ranges.”

The homicide inspector drifted away with soft footfalls in the snow, heading towards a nearby copse.

“Stubborn fucking bastard,” Kenpachi huffed and took a moment to brush mud and ice from his knees.

The taller captain trained his eyes towards the stand of trees, watching the other man’s silhouette disappear behind the bank hiding a partially frozen stream. He’d give Byakuya a good twenty minutes before following, which would provide ample time for the uptight noble to puke or cry or whatever it was that his highness did when upset.

“That’s all for today, Sweetness,” Zaraki addressed the sniper rifle prototype hidden within a large carrying case. “Time to check up on the rugrats.”

Hoisting the heavy case casually over a shoulder, Kenpachi turned to follow the tracks back to the main training area of the police academy.

“It’s all fucking babysitting,” he muttered to himself as he stalked off.

The noble-born detective could hear Kenpachi grousing in the background as he walked away, seeking a shelter from any unnecessary stimulus; broad daylight and the whisper of arctic wind were suddenly too much to be borne. Plates of snow-laced ice fractured under foot as Byakuya entered the luminous blue sanctuary of a shaded, frozen creek.

There was no good reason to drop to his knees on unforgiving, rocky ground on the bank of the stream, but he did it anyway, body coming to a stop as the numbness cleared and a deluge of unpleasant sensations washed over him.

Cold.

Filthy.

Empty.

Irreparably broken.

Oxygen grew scarce as he raised his chin to peer at the trees, identifying more with their scarred, naked limbs than with his fragmented reflection in the icy stream; stripped of tender leaves and ephemeral blooms, it was hard to believe that life lay dormant in their boughs. Byakuya tried to picture the delicate pink petals that would burst forth in a matter of months, but the only flowers in his mind’s eye were blood red.

His breath caught, failing completely as rose petals and wild scarlet hair churned and mixed together over the corpse of his lieutenant sprawled out on the office floor.

_My gods, I nearly killed him again._

The hoarse sob of a voice that followed couldn’t be his; the Kuchiki lineage surely would not produce or tolerate this fragile, shivering form. Byakuya’s breath rattled in his chest as he fought down panic and outright despair at the thought of losing his beloved subordinate.

Sinking back on his heels he set steel eyes upon the sky, arresting the threat of tears and wrestling every trace of visible emotion back under control.

_Very good, you fool,_ the aristocrat attempted a bitter smile that failed and settled into a grimace _. Head of the Kuchiki clan, shining example to the police force, and a complete travesty of a human being._

Something sharp and searing coiled itself around his heart, biting into the neglected organ as if to garrote his very soul. Claret blooms and tresses swirled in his vision again, and the horror of losing his composure was trumped by the looming threat to Renji.

Byakuya could not say for certain what the office break-in signified. At best, it was Ichimaru Gin’s most prolific practical joke – or significant lead for their case – on record; at worst, it meant that the pair of homicide detectives were being singled out by Aizen as characters of interest…or targets. 

Bureaucratic wrangling such as quitting the force, transferring out, or having his lieutenant put under federal protection would all be for naught; if they were already marked for assassination by the seemingly omnipotent mastermind, splitting up their partnership would only ensure that each man would die alone.

The blue blood felt his stomach flip and sink as a wave of helplessness welled up within him; decades of suppressed emotion, opportunities for affection and joy deferred, and for what? The result would be the same – he would lose his love before realizing the depth of his feelings, and he alone would bear the blame.

A salty tang sprang up on his tongue, and Byakuya realized belatedly that a few wayward tears had trailed down his face.

It simply wouldn’t do.

Wiping at his eyes with the harsh sleeve of his jumpsuit, the Kuchiki grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to his face in an attempt to erase the evidence of his weakness. He ran the rough cloth against his skin again as snow crunched under Zaraki’s heavy boots in the distance.

“Enough,” the homicide captain admonished himself.

He might be crumbling, disheartened, and utterly worthless, but Kuchiki Byakuya would not bring ridicule to family or colleague by indulging in a foolish display. Pre-emptive mourning, cowardice, and melancholy served no purpose.   

“Hey, you coming?” Kenpachi gruffed, a craggy silhouette at the edge of the thicket.

“Of course,” came the noble’s cool reply as he rose and swept past the S.W.A.T. captain with all the disdain he could muster.

Neither captain was inclined to speak as they returned to the main training grounds, the rustling of gear and snow giving way underfoot the only heralds of their arrival. Byakuya caught a glimpse of scarlet hair as his lieutenant flung himself over a barricade of the obstacle course, and the noble pressed his lips into a fine, determined line.

  _Whatever fate befalls us…_

The homicide inspector averted his gaze, equally loathe to indulge in despair as to leer after the redhead.

_...I will not dishonor you._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Renji paused before the locker room door and sucked in a deep breath.

“Knock, knock,” he announced in a loud voice before pushing the door open, checking for other inhabitants as he moved along the partitions.

“…and the purpose of announcing that you are knocking, rather than simply performing said action…?” Byakuya turned to face him as dark, damp hair curtained one eye.

“Is to make my presence known,” Renji grinned and plopped onto a long wooden bench running parallel to the row of lockers. _That, and I didn’t want to startle you._ “Though you could probably tell it was me just from a knock, I guess.”

The inspector seemed satisfied with that statement, turning back to the mirror on the locker door to fasten his tie. The fluid movement of ivory fingers over forest green silk captured the redhead’s attention completely; it more than made up for his terrible timing. Renji estimated that he missed exposed skin by about three minutes, and he had to content himself with imagining the divine form currently cloaked in shirtsleeves and sleek silver trousers.

The lieutenant spared himself a glance before meeting Byakuya’s eyes in the warped mirror, pleased that the older man was as engrossed in Renji’s appearance as he was in his captain’s. The redhead winked, and those cool gray eyes rolled at him before looking into the locker.

_Yumi was right. Time to get with the program…_

Renji peeked into his breast pocket, shifting his long braid aside as he retrieved a Tootsie Pop. His own tie was long gone by that point, collar unbuttoned, jeans and biker jacket replacing his suit. The tattooed man kicked out his legs, propping them up on the bench opposite as he leaned against a locker.

It was impossible to unwrap the candy quietly, and for once his inherent noisiness served him well. Byakuya turned toward him as he slipped the sucker into his mouth, staring openly as his cheek subsequently bulged out. 

“How did you fare in the drills?” The older man spoke, unable to completely shake off the distraction.

“Well enough,” Renji pulled the candy out with a loud, wet pop before licking it thoughtfully. “Though if I get one more well-intentioned but random-ass piece of advice, I’m gonna punch something.”

At that, an unidentified emotion flickered across the noble’s face. “There seems to be an epidemic of such advice as of late.”

Having seen Zaraki and the Kuchiki emerge from the woods with an unusual degree of tension crackling between them, the redhead could only guess at the words they exchanged. Rather than indulge in such conjecture, however, Renji decided to put his cards on the table.

“Yeah, I think I’ve had enough of other people’s opinions…and as glad as I am that this stupid old building is still in one piece, I’m ready to get outta here.”

The captain nodded without breaking eye contact as he reached for his vest.

“I’d like to take you with me,” the tattooed man continued, gratified that the tapered fingers fastening tiny buttons slowed at that statement, “as we’ve got some unfinished business between us.”

Byakuya’s willowy form took on a defensive stance despite remaining utterly still.

_Interesting_ , Renji observed as he suckled the lollipop a bit more, projecting considerably more confidence than he felt.

“I’d like to be brought up to speed on the case – without an audience,” the redhead specified, talking around the Tootsie Pop. “Makes me feel a little more like your partner than a bumbling sidekick, if ya know what I mean.”

The noble’s face revealed nothing. Renji felt a twinge of guilt as he spoke – the difference between asserting himself and rebuking the repressed man was harder to discern than he’d hoped - but the words needed to be said; there was nothing else for it.

“Speaking a’ bumbling sidekicks, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow me off when things get dicey, even if it’s just tooling around the office after hours.” The brawny lieutenant stretched and crossed his ankles on the far bench, easing weary legs into a new position. “Partners watch each other’s backs, trust one another enough to offer support even if they don’t always agree…and respect their partner sufficiently to let them decide for themselves what risks they’re willing to take.”

Renji was pleasantly surprised that he’d remembered most of Ikkaku’s monologue; he was, in fact, tired of being inundated with advice…though some of it was extremely useful.

“You said that you need me,” the redhead summarized as Byakuya’s stormy eyes widened. “I’d feel a lot better if you acted like it sometimes.”

Heart pounding frantically in his chest, Renji struggled to appear unruffled when in truth, he was terrified – one just didn’t speak to _Kuchiki freaking Byakuya_ like that, especially not when the man seemed ready to bolt as a startled deer.

_For someone used to babbling without thinking, it sure is hard as hell to say what’s really on my mind. Please please please let this not backfire._

“Renji.” The voice spun of liquid silk almost made him fall off the bench. “What is your greatest fear?”

The tattooed man’s ‘eh?’ came out as a ‘hrrh?’ around the hard candy which wavered tentatively at his lips.

The mostly-dressed Kuchiki leader had him fixed with a look of breathtaking intensity; Renji was too gobsmacked to do anything but blurt out the truth, lollipop falling out of his mouth and clattering onto the ground.

“Missing out because I didn’t try hard enough.”

After a soft sigh, some of the tension bled out from the noble’s jaw. Renji stole a quick breath while he could.

“I believe I owe you an apology.” Byakuya’s tone had grown as distant as the look he directed over his subordinate’s shoulder. Once again Renji could sense him withdrawing, though physically he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“For what?” The redhead had to grip the bench to keep himself from springing up and engulfing the older man in his arms; it took all of his waning self-control to remain still and hear his captain out.

“For putting you in danger unwittingly,” the slender man forced his eyes to lock on Renji’s puzzled amber orbs. “As you said, I ought to have consulted with you about my intentions the previous evening.”

The tattooed man bit his lip to remain quiet, though the blood that rushed through his ears roared and pulsed like a tempest.

“You mentioned that your greatest fear was failing for lack of effort,” Byakuya summarized in a subdued voice. “My worry… is that I will bring about the most dreaded outcome by… seeking to prevent it the wrong way.”

It took Renji the better part of a minute to sort out what the pale man was trying to say; the noble’s circumlocution and obvious discomfort were so atypical – _so adorable_ – that he started to forget just how anxious he’d been. 

The brawny lieutenant quirked an inked brow as the strangest grin graced his face. “So, you’re concerned that you’ll do in the ones you…care for… by trying to protect them?”

The aristocrat’s eyes narrowed imperiously for a moment at the daring assumption. To Renji’s great surprise, the glare faded into a look of horrified mortification for a brief, illuminating moment. _Holy shit, I was right,_ the redhead exulted as Byakuya summoned his typically impassive expression shortly thereafter.

“You worry too much,” the leonine man husked as he placed his booted feet on the floor, standing and slowly slinking into his captain’s personal space. “For being a short shrimp, Rukia is tough as nails and smart to boot. I’m a grown man and I can handle myself, though it’s kinda sweet of you to feel so responsible for me. I don’t want your apology…and I won’t stand for you beating yourself up on my behalf. Just try to remember that we’re a team; we’ll be fine as long as we stick together.”

Byakuya regarded the intruder with a wary expression before closing his eyes and bracing against the doors behind him, face averted and frame tense.

Renji’s composure imploded. It broke his heart to see the proud, composed man so close to bowing to the weight of his guilt, his demons; the tattooed man didn’t just want to soothe the pain away.

He wanted to obliterate it.

Thus, though it wasn’t the right thing to do at that moment, Renji was kissing the older man into the lockers in an instant, fingers roving and tugging at the recently tucked-in shirt with alacrity. Somewhere in the haze of lust and protectiveness, the brawny man slowed his appendages enough to redirect their efforts, one hand tangling in fragrant obsidian hair, the other pulling angular hips against his own.

Renji growled and practically rutted his superior into the cool painted steel of the lockers behind them, diving into the kiss when Byakuya obligingly angled his head to allow the intrusion, flattening the smaller man against his chest. Cool hands slipped inside his coat, bunching his shirt with a surprisingly strong grip. That those hands could just as easily spin him around and pin his sturdy frame to the wall did not escape his notice, and the reality of the inspector’s willing surrender set him on fire.

“You’re so beautiful,” the tattooed man whispered reverently against Byakuya’s lips, licking at them until they parted, sliding his tongue along slick, sweet perfection.

“I want you…” Renji continued, his palm settling on the small of the noble’s back, “but I wanna do it properly.”

_You deserve better than a quick fuck in a locker room; I don’t want to hurt you anymore, either._

The taller man tugged at a slippery bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled back a bit, taking in the ravished and kiss-bitten mouth of his beloved. Byakuya searched his face with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Spend the day with me,” Renji clarified _–and the night too, please, God –_ as he traced high, aristocratic cheekbones with rough fingers. “Lemme take care a’you, show you a good time.”

“A date?” Byakuya’s voice was rough, throaty… _delicious._ The redhead began to reconsider his decision to keep it in his pants for a few hours longer.

“Yeah.” Renji pressed a soft kiss against the yielding mouth of his superior.

“Very well.” The inspector’s poise was typical, yet inappropriate for a man pinned to a locker by a large, libidinous redhead. Thrilled as he was that the somber mood had lifted, the young man couldn’t help but to challenge his superior’s iron-clad control a bit.

“Sweet,” the tattooed man murmured and gently rocked his hips against Byakuya’s narrow pelvis, triggering a head-to-toe shiver and a soft gasp from the trapped man. “Let’s get outta here, then.”

“Would you like me to drive?” Byakuya queried after a long, frazzled moment. The noble raised an eyebrow when his subordinate shook his braid-bedecked head.

“Nope. I got it covered.”

“Oh?”

Continuing to press his boss into the lockers, Renji reached up and retrieved two motorcycle helmets from the dusty shelf overhead, displaying them with a goofy grin.

“Shall we?”

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice skating: what could possibly go wrong? Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-One_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Puffing his chest out as he rolled his shoulders, Renji felt his back pop as tendons and ligaments slipped, slid, and realigned against the unusual strain of the day. He sighed happily as the tension within his upper back dissolved, breath condensing in a frosty plume before dispersing out and over a large sheet of ice.

Peering out over the skating rink, his eyes touched briefly on the remaining denizens as they circled round with varying levels of skill. Amidst the occasional graceful skaters and speed demons were a few young couples and college students wobbling with syncopated steps, slipping frequently and often encountering the ice on their backs or behinds, as did the few small children in attendance. The redhead took some comfort in watching the gravity-prone novices as he tried to crack his lumbar spine, wriggling his hips in an ineffectual attempt to banish the soreness within.

 _Probably not the best day to learn to skate,_ Renji decided as he took inventory of the many aches and pains visited upon him by the S.W.A.T. exercises earlier that day. Reasonably fit as he was, hours of drills and exposure to the elements had taken their toll, and the icy expanse of the frozen arena looked especially unforgiving. He began to massage his lower back in anticipation as another coed went down with a _thump!_

“Are you unwell?”

Kuchiki-keibu’s cool eyes raked over his form and the bizarre movements he was indulging in; his kneading fingers stilled in an instant.

“Nope, I’m fine,” Renji ventured with a bashful grin. He relinquished his lower back and placed his hands on the partition separating them from the rink.

“I see,” Byakuya quipped with incredulity and turned back to the ice.

That provided his tattooed subordinate with an excuse to look him over, and Renji did so…as he had every few minutes since they left the station. The dapper captain had been persuaded out of his three-piece suit and into a spare change of clothes; the casual trousers and wool blazer were a fortunate choice given their method of transportation, and the absence of a tie surely marked the end of an era. The redhead didn’t mention those thoughts, nor would he reveal how delectable the other man looked until said clothes became less necessary.

Renji stared at the elder’s slender limbs, remembering how tightly they’d gripped him as they sped through slushy city streets on his Harley; he felt a smile take over his face as he espied the evidence thereof, the few tiny spots of mud and salt that stained the Kuchiki’s pant legs.

Expecting to be censured for staring at the other’s clothing while grinning like an idiot, Renji looked up and was surprised to see the inspector’s focus directed wholly at the rink. Byakuya watched the skaters like a bird of prey, discerning steel eyes studying the figures gliding past them, analyzing each and every move as fastidiously as if analyzing a crime scene.

 _Who am I kidding?_ Renji mused as the other continued his observations with single-minded purpose. _I wouldn’t miss this for the world._

A buzzer sounded.

“That’s our cue,” the tattooed man explained as a staticky announcement rang out overhead. “This place’ll be all ours in five minutes. Guess we should lace up.”

Byakuya nodded and stepped away from the partition with some reluctance. “How, exactly, did this…opportunity arise?”

“Yumi’s one of those guys that knows everybody, and the owner is a friend of his brother-in-law…or something,” Renji attempted to unravel the web of his former colleague’s contacts. “They’ve got a few cops in the family, so they were happy to help out.”

The inspector’s eyes closed as he shook his head. “Abarai, are you telling me that we have finagled our way in here by dishonest means?”

“No. I’m telling you that Yumi called in a favor - because that’s what he does – and we’re renting this out as a private party, totally legal, totally legit.” _And there won’t be any witnesses when we fall on our asses. Repeatedly._

“Ah.” The Kuchiki had slipped off his highly polished shoes and eyed the provided pair of ancient skates warily.

Renji might have snickered at the slender, feminine boots that the inspector was given, but one look at his own much-too-narrow pair extinguished the taunt before it bubbled out of his mouth. Sensing his superior’s hesitation, the redhead went on the offensive.

“You’re not chickening out, are you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Even without the withering glare, the indignation in Byakuya’s tone was palpable, cooler than the draughts wafting over from the rink. “Surely you don’t suggest that I am not as good as my word?”

“Who, me?” Renji flashed him a cheeky grin. “I’m just sayin’ that you’re staring at those skates like they’re gonna bite you, and I was just wonderin’ if you’re having second thoughts.”

“Hardly. Having survived both a field day with Zaraki and rush hour traffic on a motorcycle, I shall not be daunted by these ridiculous boots.”

And so the noble set about lacing up the aged figure skates with prickly aplomb while his lieutenant struggled to fit broad feet into his own pair, wincing as the stingy leather scraped against already blistered and calloused areas. While he could just barely thread the laces up to the ankle, his cramped toes began to throb as he tied the bow.  

The detectives remained seated as a few stragglers abandoned the ice and clomped their way to the changing areas. Renji exhaled when, after a moment of tense silence, a piece of classical guitar music began to ease out of the overhead speakers; it was a welcome change from the Top 40 pop blaring out minutes before. He looked over his shoulder and nodded his thanks to a youth sitting in the announcer’s booth, presumably Ayasegawa’s acquaintance, who in turn waved back and grinned as a shapely, amorous young lady dragged him away from the controls.

“Nice,” Renji grinned, which attracted the inspector’s attention. “Let’s get to it while we have a minimal audience.”

Byakuya acquiesced in silence, moving from the long wooden bench to the brink of the ice with measured steps. The redhead soon understood as he attempted to walk towards the rink, balancing awkwardly on the blades of his boots. Renji had just made it to the threshold when his superior stepped forward boldly, coat and scarf fluttering as he pushed off.

“Well, shit,” the lieutenant sighed and made himself move. His toes were already protesting loudly as he slid along the weathered surface of the ice. Ruts and divots from the day’s traffic were everywhere, and the irregular texture surprised him; it was a far cry from the frozen canals and slick sidewalks he’d skidded along as a youth, as were the diminutive skates in comparison to the cozy Chuck Taylors he’d worn until they literally fell apart.

When he snapped out of his reverie, Renji found himself holding onto the wall and plugging along in short steps as his eyes absently followed his captain. The Kuchiki heir was easily lapping him, gliding past with deceptively languid strides, his inexperience only evident with slight shuffling at the turns. The tattooed man shook his head in disbelief as Byakuya quickly mastered the curves, crossing one leg in front of the other and leaning ever so slightly into the turn.

 _That just figures_ , Renji chuckled to himself as the elegant man swept past him again. _I’d probably be making some progress, too, if I weren’t so busy gawking at him._

Deciding to make more of an effort, the taller man put a few more inches between himself and the wall and attempted to lengthen his stride. As his elder had discovered several minutes before, the faster one went, the stronger the sense of balance; it was only when he slowed and tensed that he started to slip.

He grinned when Byakuya nodded approvingly at his increased velocity…while coasting ahead yet again. The pale man’s lips and cheeks had pinked from the exertion and chill of the rink, and Renji’s smile crinkled with mischief as he seized on an idea.

Ever so gradually he slowed, coming to a stop as he gripped the lifeline of the skating rink’s wall. Taking care that the inspector faced the other way, he turned one skate-clad foot at a time and pushed off in the opposite direction.

“Heh,” Renji chuckled to himself as he plotted a course to intercept the noble, whose concentration was entirely focused on improving his technique…and not on the redhead crossing his path.

Byakuya’s eyes widened comically as he registered the impediment and dragged one foot behind him, the perpendicularly-oriented blade arresting his progress slightly as the tattooed man drew closer.

 _Oh. So that’s how you slow down_ , was Renji’s late-breaking thought immediately before they collided.

The Kuchiki’s fine-boned hands gripped the leather lapels of his subordinate’s jacket and braced, keeping just enough space between them to avoid butting heads as they fell. Renji’s momentum pushed his captain down onto his back; the redhead barely had time to get his hands out in front of him to cushion their impact, one cradling Byakuya’s head while the other grasped for purchase on the ice.

“Ow…fuck!” Pain seared through his left hand and wrist; elbows and knees protested but held steady and kept his full weight off the slender man trapped beneath him. “Are…are you all right?”

“I believe so,” Byakuya tested his fingers and toes, though he otherwise remained still. “Though I would be grateful if you loosened your grip.”

“Oh.” Not realizing his stranglehold via the priceless heirloom scarf, Renji unclenched his right hand and repositioned it to pillow the other’s head on the ice. “Um, sorry about all this…that didn’t quite go according to plan.”

“I am enormously relieved to hear that,” the blue blood’s eyebrow twitched upward, his unspoken question clear; _what the hell were you thinking?_

“I just wanted to catch up…” the inked man lied, poker face failing spectacularly. “Okay, I wanted to sneak up on ya and steal a smooch.”

Byakuya blinked up at him, a look of speechless consternation warring with amusement over his delicate features. Renji decided to focus instead on the shadow hair fanning out around the captain’s head, a midnight black halo dusted with tiny diamonds of ice particles.

“Abarai,” the inspector sighed and let the richly deserved rebuke escape on the exhale.

“Oh, don’t get all formal on me now,” the redhead pouted, trapped fingers massing his superior’s scalp in an effort to soothe, to apologize.

“If I were being formal, _Abarai keibu-ho_ , it would be glaringly obvious,” Byakuya retorted, though a little more tension eased out of his caged form. “Now, shall we get on with it?”

“Hmm?”

Rather than explain himself, the noble lifted his head and kissed his dumbstruck lieutenant.

“Mmh,” Renji got a word in edgewise while he could. “What’s…your hurry?”

Byakuya wove his fingers into the unraveling crimson braid. “You are not the one flat on your back on a large sheet of ice.” He pulled the redhead down, silencing him again.

 _Works for me_ , the tattooed man dove back in, so shocked by the public display of affection that he decided to put off thinking about it until later. A slender arm wrapped around his waist and reeled him in and he obeyed, letting his elbows slide outward as their chests came into contact. It was the cold, rather than the exposed venue, that kept his arousal in check, though even that inhibition was waning due to the enticing man underneath him.

Renji ground his hips downward without a thought as the grip on his hair tightened; the captain groaned, but it was not an exclamation of pleasure.

“What’s wrong?” The lieutenant caught his breath. Byakuya remained silent but his brows had drawn together slightly.

“Are you hurt?” Renji persisted, alarmed; the older man didn’t answer but shifted his legs with a sharp exhale.

“Shit.” Disentangling himself and pushing back to a kneel to straddle the felled inspector, a devastated Renji cradled his left wrist as he looked the other man over. “I hurt you, didn’t I? Damn it!”

“At ease, Abarai,” Byakuya commanded despite his compromised position. He sighed. “Beyond a bruised tailbone, I’ve not sustained any significant damage…which is more than I can say for your wrist.”

“Damn,” the redhead repeated, glaring first at the offending joint, then at his fly. “I gotta stop thinking with my dick.”

“There is a time and a place,” the noble declared drolly as he met his lieutenant’s gaze.

Hunger and guilt roiled in Renji’s belly as he realized both what he’d done, and what he would be unable to do…at least for the time being. In a moment of unexpected insight he came to a novel conclusion. “I never thought I would actually bust your ass.”

Byakuya’s spectacular platinum eyes went wide as saucers.      

“I mean, for fuck’s sake…we won’t even be able to go all the way tonight, and your ass is still gonna end up in a sling.” The nervous laugh spilled out of him, echoing through the otherwise empty rink, jubilant guitar trills forming a bizarre counterpoint to his commentary. “Leave it to me –”

“Shh.” The Kuchiki pressed a frigid, blue-gray finger to Renji’s generous lips. “Say another word about my behind and I will kick yours.”

Byakuya’s eyes grew solemn as he traced the other’s lips with his outstretched digit.

“What else is troubling you?”

Renji blinked down at the sophisticated man still sprawled over the ice; he kissed, then nipped the finger as he found his voice. “At some point, I’ll say or do something to remind you of what a complete idiot I am, and you’ll come to your senses.”

“Abarai Renji.”

 _Oh, God,_ the redhead shivered at the sudden authoritative tone that simultaneously terrified him and turned him on.

“I know full well who and what you are,” Byakuya caressed his face with a gentle hand, “and I choose to be with you. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Renji scrunched his eyes shut as a wave of emotion swept over him. He covered the captain’s hand with his own and turned to kiss and nuzzle the palm. “S’just as well; if you keep talkin’ like that I’ll tackle ya again, and then we’ll both be too hobbled to move.”

“I see. You will need to suppress your urge to pounce until your injuries are attended to.”

“Injury,” the younger man corrected, frowning. “There’s an urgent care not far from here, but…”

Byakuya raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry as his thumb stroked a stubbly cheekbone.

“You’re gonna be in a world a’hurt on the bike,” Renji pronounced with concern and no small amount of remorse. “Maybe I should call a cab?”

“That will not be necessary for so short a distance, though making it back to the manor might be more than I can abide.” The noble’s pained admission of his physical frailty ended abruptly as color suffused his face.

“Oh.” The tattooed man felt a giddy grin split his face and stretch towards his ears. “Lucky for both of us I live nearby, eh?”

Mute in his mortification, Byakuya withdrew his hand and scooted away from his subordinate. The slender man rolled onto his stomach to push up on all fours before eventually regaining his feet with what dignity he could muster. Renji couldn’t see the accompanying wince as the elder man was facing away from him, but the inspector’s irregular, hitched breaths bore witness to his discomfort.    

The redhead’s smile faltered and his gaze fell to the base of his left palm, which throbbed as insistently as his miserable, entrapped feet. A pale hand entered his field of vision and he started, quickly straightening and raising his chin to see the Kuchiki watching him. Byakuya appeared calm, patient, unruffled, though his coat was covered in icy dust and his hair in disarray, skate blades set at ninety degrees and hand extended expectantly.

Renji knew for a fact that the man was in pain – if the captain’s back hurt half as much as his wrist…or his feet, he had no business helping anyone up, much less someone taller and heavier than himself. The lieutenant was also certain that he could stand without assistance; it wouldn’t be pretty, but he could haul himself up off the ice just fine.

He took the proffered hand anyway, bracing an elbow on bended knee as he rose to his full six-foot two inches. Renji set his skates as his superior had, stabilizing them as they stood with joined hands.

“I don’t like doctors, and I sure as shootin’ don’t like needles, but we should go get checked out,” the tattooed man allowed, to which the noble nodded in agreement. “And then, we head for somewhere warm…anywhere, really; I’m freezin’ here!”

Byakuya treated him to a rare smile and he leaned in, his lips a whisper against the noble’s mouth. 

“Let this stand as proof,” the inspector quipped with mirth lighting his eyes, “that you can, in fact, ‘steal a smooch’ with minimal casualties.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Renji grinned as they uneventfully made their way off the ice.

* * *

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	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injuries and other pressing matters are tended to at Renji's apartment. Beta'd by leila-blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter justifies the 'explicit' rating.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Two_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

One wrist brace, one ‘donut’ seat cushion, and a bottle of ibuprofen later, the detectives climbed out of the taxi that had wedged into a narrow parking space a few doors down from Renji’s apartment. Said redhead emerged first and scanned the block before waving at two uniformed officers perched at a high table in the coffee shop across the street.

“I’d forgotten about our chaperones,” the taller tucked his unneeded motorcycle helmet under his arm and frowned as Byakuya paid the driver. The Harley would remain at the urgent care center for the night, its unsuitability under the circumstances clear by the time they reached the parking lot; the matter of who would cover the cost of the cab, however, had not been settled so easily.

The noble exited the vehicle having gathered their medical paraphernalia, letting a soft sigh escape. “This should conclude the betting pool, at the very least.”

“Way to look on the bright side,” Renji grinned wryly as the taxi pulled away. “I can hear the gossip mill now; kinda wish I’d needed a cast, or gotten a black eye or somethin’… get as many tongues waggin’ as possible, ya know?”

“I should think that our current injuries suffice.” The noble commented evenly and turned away.

The inspector’s stiffer-than-usual posture and faintly halted steps led Renji to snap his mouth shut with a groan.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” the tattooed man found his voice and urged his aching feet to catch up to his captain.

“I am not angry, Renji,” the Kuchiki eyed his penitent subordinate. “Our colleagues may believe what they like, though I prefer that they not think ill of you.”

“Honestly, I could give a fuck what they think,” Renji took a few calming breaths. “But…I know what you mean. I won’t stand for anyone talking smack about you, either.”

The redhead came to an abrupt stop at the base of the stairs leading to his flat. Draping his splinted, sprained wrist over the railing, he took another deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Okay, enough a’that,” he noticed Byakuya observing him with curiosity. “I’ve wasted enough time on that shit; I’m leavin’ all the office drama out here.”

The slender man said nothing.

“I…I’ve waited so long for this…” Renji’s voice faltered, a fierce blush staining his cheeks.

“As have I,” Byakuya said simply to his wide-eyed lieutenant, inclining his head towards the entry.

They stared at each other for a long moment. A gaping Renji found himself paralyzed; the promise of intimacy more profound than the physical beckoned, even as his keys burned a hole in his pocket.

“The night promises to be cold and clear,” the inspector gazed up at the moon before sharing a meaningful look with his companion. Whatever struggle or ambivalence had plagued him up to that moment was no longer in evidence.

“Right,” the redhead blurted out as his internal fog cleared. “I promised you warmth, so I guess we’d better get in there.”

“I would like that.” Byakuya shook off Renji’s attempt to lighten his burden, which was fortunate; the redhead already had his hands full, juggling keys and helmet under the dim streetlight with a wounded wrist to boot.

After a brief struggle with the deadbolt they crossed the threshold; Renji relieved his superior of the spare helmet and several bags as he nudged the door closed with his foot. Byakuya blinked in the brightly lit foyer as the brawny man stepped forward and gently pulled him into an embrace.

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Renji planted a kiss on the pale forehead. “Let me show you around first, and then maybe a shower? I know ice is best for your back on the first day, but the hot water might help too…and I’ll hunt for my heating pad while you’re at it.”

The Kuchiki heir nodded and took the tour in silence. It was not his first foray into Renji’s apartment; the novel circumstances dictated a certain degree of decorum, however, and both anxious men took comfort in slipping into the roles of host and guest, respectively. The detectives padded over the weathered wooden floor in sock feet; galley kitchen, a long, narrow bathroom, a small office, and a surprisingly tidy bedroom were all summarily inspected. If the captain worked out that Renji regularly slept on the living room sofa, he made no mention of it.

The sound of running water failed to soothe him; the redhead paced in the kitchen, worrying his lip with sharp teeth, trying to keep his nerves – and imagination – from running wild. He’d turned the heat up to accommodate his guest, the pangs of electric baseboards echoing both his palpitations and throbbing feet. Renji retied his ponytail and watched the pajama bottoms settle a bit lower on his hips; it was too hot to wear anything else. He would have retrieved a pair of shorts from his bedroom had he not advised Byakuya to change clothes there; it would be unseemly to startle the man in a state of undress…or completely nude…or wet and slick from the shower…

_Oh, God…_

Renji decided to make tea; it was a nice, normal type of thing to do in one’s kitchen.

His captain would be proud. Rather than wear a rut in the floor or down a gallon of water to combat his cotton mouth, he funneled his energy into making a cup of green tea worthy of his beloved. The tattooed man’s focus was such that the shower’s end and opening bathroom door did not disturb him; the leaves had steeped for exactly forty-five seconds when a hallway floorboard creaked.

Renji whirled around, taking the strainer and most of the unfurling tea leaves with him, scattering several soggy tendrils over the kitchen floor. He wanted to say something, but the words died in his throat; he stood, frozen, drops of scalding tea punctuating the moment and stinging as they soaked through his pant legs.

A startled Byakuya stared back, damp onyx hair cascading over the shoulders of borrowed, fleecy pajamas. The redhead was struck dumb by the sight of his clothes on the other man’s body despite having encouraged as much – though the very next moment his eyebrows cinched together in consternation. With collar upturned, sleeves and pant legs overlong, and a loose fitting waist, the sleepwear was no more revealing than the noble’s ubiquitous three-piece suit.

_Unbefuckinglievable,_ Renji mourned as he searched in vain for any new sliver of exposed skin, gaining no satisfaction whatsoever as his eyes trailed from earlobe to perfect, pearly toes.

_Wait, what?_

Kuchiki Byakuya was standing barefoot in his kitchen, the lieutenant realized as his mouth fell open and his nether regions took notice. It was too late to pretend like he wasn’t gawking at his captain’s dainty feet, mapping the fine blue-green veins, satin nails and creamy skin, even as his own limbs ached and raged against the abuse and hot tea raining down on them.

_I’ve lost my fucking mind. But, oh, wait until I get my hands on you…_

“Jasmine pearls?”

The inspector inquired, honeyed voice invading Renji’s reverie.

“Oh, yeah,” the redhead muttered lamely, setting the strainer aside and reaching for a damp rag. “Sorry, but I didn’t steep it for long enough.”

“It will be fine, I am sure,” the aristocrat took a tentative step forward. “Allow me -”

“No way,” Renji crouched to mop up the mess. “There’s no guarantee you’ll straighten up again, trust me. I broke my tailbone snowboarding once, and even sitting was pure agony for weeks.”

Arching an eyebrow, Byakuya crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “I am not an invalid, Abarai, and I’ll not be waited on like one.”

The redhead bit his lips, retort held in check as he stood. He could understand not wanting to appear weak; hell, he’d spent most of his life striving to appear as indomitable as the quiet captain before him - and failed on a regular basis, but he understood. Renji was sensing something else in the inspector’s tense posture, though.

_I guess you’re used to being fawned over,_ the tattooed man mused as he wrung out the rag and draped it over the faucet. _Must be kinda weird, being waited on hand and foot in your own home…and annoying,_ Renji decided, holding the image of a tempestuous, teenaged Byakuya in his mind, lithe limbs batting away the hands that sought to tame and render him presentable. Time shifted forward, and a somber widower replaced the feisty youth, a mere statue in an oversized master suite as dutiful servants attended him. _It’s gotta be lonely in that big ol’ mansion of yours; Rukia’s growing up and outta there, and it’ll become a museum again…or a crypt._

The tall man frowned. “Look, I’m not sayin’ you can’t help out or get your hands dirty, if that‘s what you wanna do. Just…it’s my fault you’re hurt, and…”

The noble’s solid steel gaze thawed a bit.

“And,” Renji tried to keep his mouth from twitching, “you oughta save your flexibility for where it counts, eh?”

Byakuya remained motionless, expressionless, keeping the blush off his face by willpower alone.

“You are incorrigible,” the inspector almost huffed, arms dropping to his sides as the accused approached him.

“You keep saying that,” Renji unleashed a smile as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “It’s one of the things you love about me, admit it.”

The words tumbled out so quickly, he didn’t have time to sputter or backpedal; Byakuya gripped his bare shoulders as he pulled back to meet his eyes directly.

“I do,” the slender man declared, grip loosening to let fingers trail over inked skin. “Your overdeveloped sense of guilt, however, I would do something about.”

“What would you recommend, sir?” Renji kept his diction crisp before brushing their lips together again, the captain relaxing within his embrace.

Byakuya’s reply was a low sound of pleasure from the back of his throat, a sound his subordinate echoed as their tongues met, encountering the tang of toothpaste. Renji’s arousal surged at an alarming rate and he groaned, breaking off the kiss and tightening his hold on the blue blood’s lissome torso.

_I love you too, Byakuya_ , he mouthed into sleek, midnight hair.

“I gotta get off my feet,” is what he said aloud, equally true but unrelated. “Lemme fetch some things while you pour the tea?”

“Very well,” the noble said softly, as if disappointed, when the younger man withdrew and turned away.

Renji’s brain was on fire, buzzing and burning at least as much as his face, as he stalked off towards his bedroom. He eyed the bottom drawer of his nightstand and pulled it open, shifting through seldom-used contents with a suddenly tremulous hand. First withdrawing the hospital-grade heating pad, he then snatched up a small plastic bottle and quickly shoved it into his pocket, marching to the door without a backward glance or second thought.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Byakuya peered into his teacup as he stood barefoot in the living room.

The wall clock ticked along, heedless of his predicament and loud as a gong. Renji had disappeared down the hall yet again and was pilfering through a closet in search of bedding; the captain stared down at the futon spread atop a funky, multicolored area rug, then his cool eyes surveyed the cushy leather couch that usually served as the redhead’s bed.

Were he in his mansion, he would know what to do; he’d have lured the succulent man into his bedchamber already, and a slow, deliberate seduction would be well under way.

_But I am not at home,_ Byakuya reasoned with himself simply enough. _I am not in charge here._

The relief born of that realization completely baffled the nobleman. And so he sipped his tea in silence, feeling thoroughly out of place and rather vulnerable beyond his native habitat.

“All right, rummaging complete,” Renji announced with a crooked grin as he appeared with arms full of pillows and blankets. The taller man dropped his finds into a fluffy pile on the futon. “How about you take the couch? The cushioning is better, and it’ll be easier to get up from.”

The Kuchiki inclined his head before draining the last of his tea; he turned to take the cup to the kitchen when it was snatched out of his hands.

“I got this,” the tattooed man scuffed out of the room, calling out over his shoulder. “Why don’t you get comfy?”

_I have no idea where to start_ , Byakuya decided, passively absorbing his subordinate’s nervous energy. He’d gotten as far as selecting a pillow when the brawny man re-emerged with a chuckle.

“Allow me,” Renji snorted as the dazed captain remained motionless. The tanned, capable hands arranged throws and a heating pad just so on the leather surface before tugging the pillow away from the willowy noble. “Like I said, I’ve got some experience with this stuff.”

“I see,” Byakuya stated calmly while his brain stalled. The newly prepared nest appeared inviting enough, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the redhead was plotting something.

“C’mere,” Renji nudged him towards the sofa and patted the springy surface.

“Abarai,” he growled in mild displeasure at being coddled; said fellow seemed impervious to his complaint and eased him onto his back with gentle hands. “What are you up to?”

“Helping you settle in, my love,” the lieutenant unleashed a dazzling smile. “You can set the pad to hot or cold, and I would alternate between ‘em about every thirty minutes like the doc said, if I were you.”

“Very well,” Byakuya found the control and reluctantly flicked the switch onto the ‘cool’ setting; it helped to counter the surge of warmth that flooded his insides at the redhead’s words. Dazed as he was, his keen eyes did not miss the plastic bottle of clear, viscous fluid that Renji deposited on the side table, though he decided against acknowledging it aloud.

“Can you lift up? Your feet, I mean,” Renji’s voice went a little hoarse as he clarified, sitting down quickly and guiding the other’s ankles onto his lap. The older man kept his expression carefully blank as the muscles at the base of his spine cramped and stiffened with the motion; no good would come from revealing his discomfort, though, and curiosity currently outweighed every other concern. 

Renji flipped open the lid and inverted the bottle, a dollop of oil forming on his palm. He rubbed his large hands together to warm the liquid before grabbing Byakuya’s right foot.

“Oh!” What was intended as a neutral comment came out as a groan; the noble’s eyes drifted shut as strong thumbs slid along the arch of his foot, depth increasing with every stroke.

Fingers pressed against his heel, then traveled up to the ball in slow circles. He was thankful for his closed lids just then as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy; the pressure was almost too much, almost painful, but just enough to draw attention away from his injured tailbone.

“Renji…” The Kuchiki bit his lips before any other sound could escape.

“Hmm?” His masseuse’s voice was velvet while his toes were spread, their bases kneaded and cajoled into relaxation. “Feel good?”

Byakuya nodded. Were his pajama pants any more fitted, his host would not have needed to ask.

“I’m glad,” Renji purred and stroked the pads of his captain’s toes. Attentive amber eyes flicked between the foot in his grasp and the rapturous look on his beloved’s face; fine brows were drawn together and lips slightly parted as shallow, panting breaths escaped.

The blue blood couldn’t see the sly grin, but he could hear it, almost feel it when the chuckling redhead went after his other foot. “You like it when I touch you, yeah?”

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, breathless; his body was on fire, alight with arousal from nothing more than a foot rub…but this was no ordinary massage. He was melting under the firm grasp of his lieutenant, each powerful touch ripe with the promise of things to come. The inspector could imagine nothing more perfect, no pleasure more sublime.

Until something warm and wet engulfed his toes.

The stoic man cried out as Renji sucked two toes further into his mouth, his wicked tongue dragging along the sensitive pads, delving into the webbed space between.

Storm-cloud gray eyes snapped open. Byakuya propped himself up on his elbows despite the protests of his lower back; he watched slack-jawed as Renji relinquished the digits with a wet pop before licking his way from heel to toe.

“Renji,” the noble muttered with an undercurrent of urgency; his manhood laid hard and heavy against his abdomen, pale hands shaking slightly at his sides.  The redhead groaned as he shifted, brushing his other foot against the erect length poorly concealed by tiger-striped pajama bottoms.

The tattooed man stared at him, warm eyes swallowed up by widely dilated pupils; Renji nibbled at his instep, dragging his lips along the pale forefoot before devouring his toes again.

Byakuya gasped and collapsed back onto the pillow, shifting his hips restlessly and gripping the blanket beneath him. He was reaching his limit.

Renji slowed, teeth scraping the noble’s big toe, long pink tongue bestowing a lingering lick to the vulnerable skin underneath. The brawny man set his feet down carefully as he slipped off the couch to kneel alongside him.

“Renji, I…” the elder began as slick hands reached for his waistband. “I…would rather not receive anything that I cannot fully reciprocate tonight.”

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” the redhead grumbled as he untied the knot of his drawstring. “Can you lift your hips?”    

Overstimulated as he was, Byakuya complied without thinking and swallowed the yelp of pain before it could escape him. He held himself and his cramping back still as Renji tugged the pants down to his knees, sinking down slowly as the garment was pulled off and tossed over the redhead’s shoulder. The skin of his bare back pressed against the cool surface of the pad and he gasped.

“You all right?” Renji’s hand stilled on his hip; their eyes met for an instant before the younger man broke away to stare at his bared lower half.

“Yes.” The pain Byakuya could abide; the maddening fever-pitch of unslaked lust, he could not.

Renji leaned over and swallowed him to the root.

It was too much; the younger man’s mouth was sizzling hot, lips firm and impatient. That wicked tongue swiped, then pressed against the tip before sinking down on him again. He would not last much longer.

Brain too beleaguered to function, his hands acted independently and in self-defense; one slithered into the mass of red hair, bunching crimson silk between greedy fingers. The other trailed over a tattooed arm, dusting over clavicle and pebbled copper nipple before latching onto precariously perched pants. Byakuya pulled the other man’s pajamas down, allowing Renji’s blushing erection to spring free and sway as its owner bobbed his head.

The Kuchiki reached out and grasped his lover, stroking him firmly in an effort to make up for lost time, tapered fingers teasing dark red curls at the base as his pace quickened.

Renji groaned around his girth and took him in deeper, working him to the back of his throat with an undulating tongue; his groin tightened in warning as the tattooed man hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder. Though practically immobilized by the large hands on his hips, the older man was by no means helpless - Byakuya twisted as he gripped his lieutenant’s shaft, the satin-smooth flesh growing firmer in his grasp.  

Their eyes met; elation, want, and unadulterated adoration swirled in Renji’s gaze. The stoic man’s pleasure crested that instant, and his devoted lover right after, warmth coating his hand in sharp counterpoint to the cold compress beneath him.

Byakuya’s nimble fingers removed his lover’s hair tie, allowing wild scarlet tendrils to cascade down his sturdy shoulders and sweat-slicked upper back. The Kuchiki brushed a few locks aside as Renji swallowed again before slumping forward with a contended sigh.

“Mmh,” the redhead rumbled as he pillowed his head on the noble’s stomach, eyelids drooping as slender fingertips carded through his hair.

A last bulwark of restraint gave way as Renji pressed lazy kisses onto his partially-clothed stomach; Byakuya brought his other hand up and let his tongue dart out, sampling the bitter fluid there with curiosity.

“Oh. My. God.” Incredulous amber eyes locked onto him. “Keep that up and I’ll jump yer bones again.”

“Is that so?” He gave the younger man a challenging look. “I shall consider myself fortunate to be on a well-padded surface, then.”

Renji’s smile almost faltered, but a flicker of mischief over his superior’s face stopped him short.

“How is your wrist?” Byakuya’s concerned tone stood in stark contrast to the lascivious way he lapped at his own palm.

“Nngh, fine,” the redhead groaned throatily at the display. “How’s your back?”

“My attention has been directed elsewhere,” the Kuchiki confessed, fingers curling around Renji’s hair. “Oh, and Abarai?” 

“Mmm.” Broad, calloused hands began to slide along Byakuya’s sinewy legs.

“Do you recall what I mentioned earlier about reciprocity?”

“Mmh?” Renji’s exploration paused for a moment.

Byakuya seized the opportunity and surged forward, toppling his lieutenant and pinning the larger man to the futon on the floor. He gave the sprawled redhead an imperious look before sliding down the muscular, tattooed body, pale hands perched on broad shoulders as he mouthed the inky patterns along Renji’s chest.

“One does not take such liberties without suffering the consequences, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” the penitent Renji replied with unfettered desire as his manhood sprang to attention again, hissing as soft lips and wisps of black hair tickled his toned abdomen.

“I am glad that we understand each other.” Byakuya nudged his knees apart, delicate fingers trailing along the inside of powerful thighs. As much as he loathed the idea, the cold compress had done wonders for his back…and he planned to take full advantage of the improvement in his condition, however temporary.

The aristocrat pressed a kiss to the sharp jut of Renji’s hipbone. “What is your preference, Abarai? Foot rub before or after?”

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The honeymoon is over.' Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Three_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

The streets were thick with pea-soup fog, the dense mist forming halos around street lights and rendering each passing traffic sign a blurry suggestion.

Renji ‘s foot hovered over the accelerator; he’d driven in freezing fog before and was well aware of the slippery sheen covering the innocuous appearing pavement of side streets and off-ramps alike. Trying not to brake too much too suddenly, he allowed the coupe to coast for a bit while he eased the driver’s seat back a few more centimeters to better accommodate his longer legs.

He glanced surreptitiously at his passenger, a sleepy-eyed Byakuya who sat slightly off-axis in a leather-lined bucket seat.

_No need to rub it in_ , Renji decided as he turned his seat warmer up to ‘high,’ as his inspector had from the moment they entered the vehicle. The Kuchiki’s sports car was fun to drive, and under ordinary circumstances he’d have been thrilled to have the privilege of chauffeuring his superior around.

_These ain’t ordinary circumstances_ , the redhead decided as he chewed on his lower lip, which was well on the way to being worried raw. _You’d be drivin’ if it didn’t hurt so much, and -_

“Renji.”

The aforementioned man glanced at the delicate hand on his shoulder, then at the worried furrow between Byakuya’s elegant brows.

“Sorry,” Renji quickly looked away, blinking rapidly as if to clear the fog before the windshield. He didn’t specify further; there were too many things to apologize for. What cut the deepest was that the very man trying to comfort him - his idol, his lover – was the one most harried and hurt by his very presence.

_What the hell am I supposed to do? Whenever you let me closer, I make things worse…and I don’t even know if backing off would help anymore, not that there’s a chance in hell I’d actually do that._

“Are you in pain?” The noble inquired with a solemn expression.

“Nah.” _Not physically, anyway._ “The wrist brace really does the trick. You?”

“A mere annoyance,” Byakuya allowed one brow to twitch upward. “Shall we stop for coffee?”

Renji relinquished his snarky comment of disbelief at the mention of caffeine. “Oh, hell yeah! With the way our luck’s been goin,’ we’re gonna need it.”

The slender man turned his attention to road ahead with a look of embarrassment. 

“Shit! That’s not what I meant,” the tattooed man shifted into damage-control mode as the hand dropped away from his deltoid; he grabbed it and trapped it in a firm grip in his lap. “My only regret is that I hurt you at the rink, okay? I wouldn’t trade the rest for anything.”

The older man wouldn’t look at him, but did not attempt to pull away. It would have been polite, the redhead realized, to inquire about Byakuya’s regrets, but Renji didn’t think he could bear to hear the reply.

_Just figures that a few years’ worth of tension wouldn’t evaporate overnight._

Renji ran a thumb over the smooth-skinned, fine-boned hand in his grasp and recalled the feel of it skimming over his face a few hours prior.

_“Renji.”_

_Without so much as opening his eyes, he rolled over and pinned Byakuya beneath him, absently noting that street clothes had replaced the other’s sweat-soaked pajamas since he was last awake._

_“Hnnh,” Renji buried his nose into damp, sweet-smelling hair. “You showered again.”_

_“Yes. If we are to be on time, you will need to get up now and do the same.” Byakuya looked surprisingly at ease despite being trapped by his brawny lieutenant within a fluffy, futon-based cocoon on the floor._

_“Oh,” the drowsy redhead didn’t move. “What time is it?”_

_“Early.”_

_“I thought we had the day off,” a slightly more alert Renji nipped at a pale earlobe, which reddened noticeably even in the dim light._

_“Functional office or not, homicides continue to take place,” Byakuya murmured and tried not to squirm as warm lips trailed down his neck._

_“We’ve got a case?” The tattooed man nudged a stubborn collar aside to mouth his captain’s clavicle. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.”_

_“It hasn’t yet. I need to return to the manor for a change of clothes, then to the precinct for my car; if you get up now, you can meet me at the station within the hour.”_

_“Nope.” Renji licked along the slender neck from collar bone to ear, planting a kiss on the tender flesh behind the helix. “I’m comin’ with ya; it’ll be faster to go from here to the station and then to your place, after all. Your spidey sense givin’ any hints about where the bodies will be?”_

_Byakuya turned to look at him, surprised both at the question and insistence that they stick together._

_“Patchy snow…thick fog…port district, I think.”_

_Now it was Renji’s turn to look astonished. “I was just kiddin.’ I thought it usually wasn’t very specific.”_

_“It isn’t,” the noble’s brows knit together as he frowned. “That was…probably just a dream.”_

_“Hmm.”_

_The redhead was at a loss for words, having witnessed something of his lover’s ‘rest’ overnight. After about forty-five minutes of sated bliss, Byakuya’s sleep had been fitful, punctuated by drenching sweats and restless movements. Renji had seen night terrors in the homeless shelters of his youth, had held children waking confused and panicked, hearts practically beating out of their chests and screaming in horror. He might have felt better had the stoic man just screamed, but the muted, anguished noises and inconsolable tremors were simply too much to bear; even in sleep, the man tried to keep it all inside. Renji, for his part, coped by holding the captain tighter and allowing a few of his own tears to trail into the onyx hair scattered around them._

_“Renji.” Cool fingertips danced over the jagged tattoos on his face. “Are-”_

_Byakuya’s lips were cool, too, though the depths of his mouth were not. There was solace in that warmth, vulnerability and pleasure offered freely, no sign of the impenetrable Kuchiki armor in evidence. Such impressions, however fleeting, gave Renji hope; he might be able to reach – perhaps even help - the quiet noble, could be more than just a diversion to the man underneath him._

_“Just a little more,” Renji mumbled, trying to keep his plea from sounding too desperate. “I’ll get up in a minute, just…”_

_He sank down into another kiss, sighing as fingers curled around his neck._

The hand slipped out of his reach. Byakuya shifted slightly in his seat, breath held and expression neutral. Feeling the silence press in against them, Renji decided to cover his mouth and force out a yawn.

“My apologies for interrupting your sleep.”

Having stopped at a light, the redhead turned to look at Byakuya, who stared straight ahead and would not return his gaze. It occurred to Renji that his superior’s contrition was for more than waking him at an early hour.

“Don’t do that,” Renji said in a firm, authoritative voice, and it worked; the somber man whipped around to face him.

“If that’s what it takes to start each day with you, I’ll gladly make do with less rest,” the lieutenant declared, having decided to go the full disclosure route.

The noble’s pale lips parted and closed again without a sound, gray eyes wide.

“So don’t go sayin’ you’re sorry,” Renji went on, taking advantage of his captain’s speechlessness. “If it’s like snorin,’ if it can’t be helped, then that’s that and I’ll get used to it. If there’s somethin’ we can be doin’ so you don’t have to suffer so much, though, I’ll help you however I can.”

Byakuya shot him a hard look, one reserved for when he felt truly threatened. The redhead took a deep breath and plowed on undaunted.

“Just…stop doin’….this,” Renji gestured vaguely with his splinted arm as the light turned green. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, so tryin’ to put distance between us will do shit except make us both feel worse.”

The engine hummed along in a smooth bass ostinato while the detectives remained silent.

The tattooed man stole another glance toward his sophisticated captain.

“Don’t make me pull the car over and wipe that look off your face.”

Even as he said the words, Renji realized he might have finally gone too far; steel eyes widened for a moment before narrowing to glare at him, the sensual mouth below engaged in a frown.

“What…look…would that be, Lieutenant?”

The imperious tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.

“Right now?” The corner of Renji’s mouth twitched upward in a smirk despite his trepidation. “Indignant, and maybe a little shocked. If I were to kiss you, though, it would shift to mostly amused with a hint of resignation.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, at least with a short smooch,” the redhead continued, emboldened. “If I were to do it right and proper, well, you might look downright _ravenous_.”

Renji’s voice trailed off in a growl punctuated with the beginnings of a lecherous grin; the Kuchiki’s steel gaze had thawed to liquid silver, the subtle changes in his expression manifesting exactly as the impudent redhead had described.

He was tempted to pull the car over anyway.

A soft buzzing sound issued forth from Byakuya’s breast pocket a moment before an electronic trill rang out, effectively stopping the detour before it started.

“You set it to vibrate?” Renji queried with a raised brow.

“Do not get any ideas,” the noble chided as he reached for his phone, lifting it smoothly to his ear.

“Me? I’d never,” the redhead mouthed as the inspector took the call, all manner of gadgets and gizmos flooding into his mind and catalyzing his overactive imagination.

Renji let the car crawl to a stop in front of his favorite Southside café; he pouted at the lack of life therein and the opening time that loomed a solid hour in the future.

“What’s the verdict, boss? Riverfront?”

Byakuya nodded and returned the phone to its rightful location. “There is an all-hours coffee house on the way.”

“Music to my ears,” the redhead nodded and pulled back out onto the empty street. “You still owe me breakfast, by the way.”

“I am well aware,” the older man replied in a wry monotone. “Coffee and pastry at a crime scene hardly constitutes a proper meal.”

“Don’t I know it,” Renji smacked his lips together. “I could really go for some dim sum right now.”

“At five in the morning?” Byakuya’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.

“Why not? If it’s good enough for dinner, it’ll work for breakfast, too.”

The reserved aristocrat could not banish the astonished expression from his face.

“Even I can’t eat sweets all the time,” the lieutenant continued as his stomach growled for emphasis. “Nothin’ like cold pizza or samosas first thing…are you tellin’ me you’ve never had leftovers for breakfast?”

“I have not,” the inspector admitted as his subordinate rolled his eyes.

“Unbelievable,” Renji pronounced as they crossed over double train tracks. “You could have anything in the freakin’ world…what’s the point of bein’ a bachelor if you can’t eat like one?”

“It never occurred to me,” Byakuya managed with a slight shrug.

The redhead released a breath he didn’t recall holding as the ‘bachelor’ comment passed without issue. “Well, we gotta work on that. I’ll leave the restaurant experience up to you, but before the week is out, you’ll get the full Abarai-approved breakfast of champions - it’s gonna rock your world.”

Renji tossed an arm over the back of the passenger seat as the mist before them began to pulse red and blue from the squad cars a few blocks ahead.

“I must say, I’ve never seen you this relaxed before,” Byakuya’s focus was directed into the fog again before he qualified his previous statement. “In my presence, at least.”

“Hmm.” They turned into an empty public parking lot; Renji cut the ignition with a wolfish grin. “Well, let’s see. I woke up next to this gorgeous, incredibly sexy man – turns out, he’s kinda into me – and if I’m livin’ right, he’s gonna make out with me for a while and fog up the windows of his fancy car.”

“Oh?” The Kuchiki heir scrutinized him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Aw, come on,” the redhead cooed. “We just got the call; it would look weird if we showed up right away.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Byakuya responded in a level tone while he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Heh,” Renji freed himself and slithered into his superior’s personal space. “‘Operation Lip-Lock’ is now in effect…”

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Renji,” the captain murmured many minutes later, “we ought to be going.”

The younger man hummed, palming the fullness beneath Byakuya’s belt.

“Abarai,” the blue blood turned his head and tried again as lips skimmed over his neck. “That is a bit more than kissing.”

“Can’t be helped,” Renji growled and tugged at an earlobe with his teeth.

Byakuya sighed. “Ah, but it must.” He slid a hand between them and nudged at the lieutenant’s chest.

“Fine.” A grumbling Renji straightened in his seat and mumbled something suspiciously like ‘tease’ under his breath.

“Bold words, considering this ‘operation’ was your idea,” the Kuchiki deadpanned and exited the vehicle.

“Hey! That’s not…” the redhead trailed off as he realized he was speaking to an empty car.

“That’s not fair,” Renji continued when he caught up to his captain who was cutting a trail into aged snow dividing the street from the sidewalk. “Why’re you walkin’ there?”

“It might have escaped your notice,” the noble continued as his shoes sank through the icy layer overlying packed powder, “that the sidewalk is quite slick. I would prefer not to fall again.”

“Point taken.” It had not escaped Renji’s notice that his elder’s gait was still hitched and antalgic at times. “Your fancy shoes might not be helping, either. Ever think about boots?”

Byakuya did not answer right away, eyeing his subordinate’s footwear. “You intend to ride later?”

“Nope; they’re comfy enough, and I’m used to ‘em,” Renji glanced at his motorcycle boots, then at the crime scene tape as it came into view. “I could carry you, ya know.”

“I am sure you are capable,” the captain shot him a withering look, “but as I weigh considerably more than the three kilos you are permitted to lift while injured, I suggest you reconsider.”

“I could totally take you with one arm,” Renji boasted even as he held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I give.”

“That may be the first reasonable thing you’ve said in the last five minutes.”

“I know,” the redhead admitted sheepishly. “I’m a little giddy…and I’m pretty sure it ain’t the snow.”

Byakuya spared him a sidelong glance and pressed his lips together as they crossed an alley. Even in the dim light cast by the streetlamps, Renji saw the beginnings of color dusting the other’s face. He prepared to issue another cheeky comment as an alluring scent wound its way around his nose.

“Mmh, coffee…” Renji’s head turned automatically towards the source of the aroma. “What’ll ya have?”

“The usual.”

“Got it, boss. I’ll catch up,” the tattooed man peeled off across the avenue at a trot, only slipping once over the glittering, slick pavement.

The pavement quickly gave way to cobblestones as Byakuya entered the portion of the waterfront limited to foot traffic. He nodded at the uniformed officers standing along the yellow tape cordoning off the crime scene and fingered the nitrile gloves stashed in his coat pocket.

The stalls of an open-air market stood empty, its usual vendors held at bay not by the hour but by the police presence. A number of quaint boutiques flanking the market held nothing but vague swathes of gray and brown as he passed, his warped reflection flitting along the large window panes like a ghost.

The thought gave him pause.

Byakuya turned on his heel on the frosty stone surface, surveying the storefronts and empty lanes around him as a sensation of being watched passed over him.

_I am getting fanciful in my old age._

“Mornin,’ Bya-chan! How’s the honeymoon?”

Turning back around with an annoyed flick of his hair, the noble spared the chief medical examiner a glance. “Urahara-sensei.”

“Where’s your better half?” Kisuke kept his voice saccharine but low enough to keep their conversation private.

“Where are the bodies?” Byakuya fired back though he spied the first victim a few yards in front of them.

“Touché,” the scraggly blond scratched his neck. “I’ve only just arrived myself. You got here pretty quickly.”

 The taciturn aristocrat carried on without comment.

“That kind of a morning, I see,” Urahara chirped, typical ebullience in evidence. “Left your sense of humor at home?”

“Hardly. I wait with bated breath for something truly amusing to issue forth from your mouth,” Byakuya declared in a bitingly dry tone. “How is it that you were called for this case?”

“Same reason you were,” the crafty blond replied as his fatuous affect evaporated. “Major case went kaput when Aizen bowed out, so the department’s response to high profile cases now is to call out the division chiefs, regardless of the hour.”

“I see.” The noble took a deep, silent breath as he drew close to a corpse sprawled in the middle of the street.  He blinked. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Kisuke sighed and crouched.

An older man lay prone, coat and shirt parted thus leaving him bared to the waist, his entrails a shimmering, serpentine mass of pink and gray nesting in a pool of dark blood over the cobblestones.

“Don’t see this much nowadays,” the chief medical examiner went on, lifting the eviscerated body enough to reveal the cross-shaped wound* to the abdomen. 

“He had no second?” Byakuya wondered aloud; he’d seen photos of those that committed seppuku, most of whom only completed a superficial stomach wound before an assistant struck off their head.

“Funny you should mention that. The other body’s in the alley with a slit throat; makes you wonder if they got performance anxiety.” Urahara retrieved a wallet from the dead man’s back pocket. He waited until the other pulled on his gloves before handing it over.

Byakuya’s hands stilled before peering through the contents, his keen eyes fixed on the dead man’s face.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Kisuke looked over his shoulder expectantly.

“Representative Aramaki,” the Kuchiki heir pronounced.

“What?” The medical examiner nearly dropped his thermometer. Gathering his wits, he carefully examined the deceased’s visage. “I’ll be damned. He hadn’t even taken office yet, had he?”

“No. He was to finish out his term with the metropolitan assembly at year’s end.”

“Major case, indeed,” Urahara whistled between his teeth. “Does anyone else know?”

“I cannot say. The public venue and unusual treatment of the corpse alone might have warranted our involvement,” the inspector reasoned. Though well aware of the sensitive nature of the decedent’s identity, the lack of cameramen and reporters swarming the police barricade reassured him that news of the representative-elect’s death had not yet been leaked to the press. Byakuya carefully opened the wallet and inventoried the contents: driver’s license, credit cards, a small amount of cash and a few business cards. The noble made note of the smeared ink scrawled over a number of the cards and replaced them within the stiff folds of leather.

“Any insights pertaining to the weapon?” The detective went on, mostly to redirect his own thoughts. 

“Nope. I’ll be able to get a better look at the wound bed in the morgue, but it’s hard to tell with this much gore in place,” Kisuke commented and lifted the dead man’s right arm. “He’s not quite in full rigor yet. I seriously doubt he was moved; he lost most of his blood here, not to mention his lividity is well established and fits his current position. Given all that, and factoring the ambient temp and his liver temp, he’s probably been dead between four and twelve hours.”

“Fishmonger called it in,” Renji’s baritone suddenly spilled over the space, making his captain shiver slightly. “Almost tripped over this guy while going to open his stall about forty-five minutes ago.”

The redhead closed in, toting a cardboard carrier with a couple of steaming beverages therein; Byakuya acknowledged him but made no move to claim his coffee with nitrile-gloved hands.

“Where’s the other victim?”

“Follow me, gents,” Urahara answered the redhead’s query and guided them to the next corpse.

Like the other victim, the cause of death was fairly self-evident; a thirty-something man with bleached hair stretched along the frosty wall of the alley, a deep gash traversing his throat from ear to ear. An aged fire escape loomed overhead, the streetlights casting complicated webs of shadows onto the corpse beneath the staircase.

“Damn.” Renji sipped his latte with a frown.

“That’s about it. Time frame is contemporaneous with the first fella,” Kisuke mentioned and plucked the billfold from the man’s jacket.

Byakuya accepted the wallet which was heavily saturated with blood; the money and cards were hopelessly matted together, and he doubted whether they could be separated without being destroyed in the process. After tentatively fingering the edges of the clumped, crinkling sheets, the inspector decided against delving further into – and possibly destroying – the materials in the dead man’s billfold.

 “Takahiro Yoshi.”

 The noble blinked as Renji spoke; he hadn’t located an I.D. yet.

“Press pass,” the brawny redhead indicated a lanyard looped around the dead man’s throat and the card at the end of the cord, pointing with the toe of his boot. “Dude hosts the early morning show on Channel Seven. Hosted, I mean. Way too freakin’ perky for my tastes.”

“Duly noted,” Byakuya arched an eyebrow as he found the television host’s driver’s license, confirming his subordinate’s discovery before securing the wallet in an evidence bag.

“Abarai-kun doesn’t go for bright and cheery, eh? I’m shocked,” Kisuke grinned and glanced between the detectives.

Renji sputtered as color crept across his nose. His superior found it charming, though he would give no such indication in the presence of the medical examiner.

“There was substantial blood spilt here as well,” the Kuchiki declared, surveying the scene. “Were there any defensive wounds on this body?”

“No.” Urahara’s smile faded slowly. “That’s not definitive until further inspection, either, but so far, there’s no flesh under fingernails, no slash marks or significant wounds along the hands or forearms. That goes for the statesman as well.”

The noble turned and started to pace back towards the first victim. “There are only a few drops of blood between them, most by the younger man, and the splatter pattern appears purely vertical.”

Byakuya stopped again at the threshold of the alley, slowly turning round as his lieutenant stopped before him.

“How many cameras do you see, Abarai?”

“Cameras?” Renji repeated as he stepped onto the cobblestone lane. He pointed at the brightly-lit kiosk nestled between the upscale shops opposite the market. “The ATM will have one.”

The raven-haired man nodded and watched his assistant scan the premises.

“There’s another one,” the tattooed man pointed to the beams spanning the awning over the vacant stalls. “Though there’s a good chance it’s a dummy just to discourage shoplifting.”

“Or, that the tape loops over at frequent intervals,” Byakuya agreed, “though we will request the surveillance data anyway.”

“Um…” Renji hedged and looked around again, wondering what his superior could see that he could not.

“The fire escape,” the older man indicated a tiny anomaly in the surface of the grated metal stairs as they wandered back into the alley.

The tall redhead craned his neck around to stare at the iridescent eye of the well-obscured lens, the remainder of the device nestled within a steel crossbeam of the fire escape.

“Whoa.” Kisuke straightened and stood behind them, blinking up at the camera. “That’s –”

 “-too freakin’ creepy,” Renji finished. “How’d you spot that?”

“Fresh paint on an external fire escape during the wintertime,” Byakuya shrugged. “It seemed odd.”

Two sets of eyes blinked at him.

_There had to be a rational explanation for that sensation of being watched,_ the noble reasoned, _and the paint theory is a more plausible than relying on the whims of my intuition._

“Right.” Renji’s tone came across more amused than dubious as he shook his head. He gulped down the last of his drink, wincing as the still-hot liquid trickled down his throat. “I’ll let you do another walk-through while I make sure the forensics guys are en-route. You want yours now?”

Removing and disposing of his gloves, Byakuya declined his espresso though he handed over the bagged wallets in his grasp. He eyed the drink as it sat in the cardboard carrier, but decided to defer his pleasure for the moment. “Perhaps when we have finished. Urahara-sensei, I would appreciate inspecting the bodies again before you take possession.”

“Of course,” Kiskuke bowed obligingly, wiggling his eyebrows for the blue-blood’s benefit.

Byakuya closed his eyes rather than rolling them, swallowing a sigh in determination not to let the pathologist witness the extent of his irritation. Renji passed behind him, fingers trailing over his shoulders in a subtle caress rendered necessary by the close quarters of the alley; the noble did not shiver, though the spark of sensation spilled through him and escaped in a sharp, silent exhale.

The homicide captain forced himself to pace up and down the alley, then around the perimeter of the waterfront market before returning to the disemboweled man sprawled over the promenade. The ruddy blood was crazed and frosted over in some areas, whereas in others it seemed thickened and crinkled in the cold. Byakuya carefully crouched down, his tailbone protesting as he got a closer look at the unusual appearance of the bloody cobblestones.

“Hey, Pineapple. What’dya do to score a longer leash?”

Kurosaki Ichigo’s brash tenor rang out in the empty market. The noble caught a flash of goldenrod hair in the periphery; the young reporter stood obediently behind the barricade, the yellow police tape and Renji’s blazing crimson hair framing a pocket of vibrant color in the dark and drab marketplace.

“I got my shots,” the grin in Renji’s voice carried easily to his superior, “though I can’t seem to stop bitin’ without provocation.”

Byakuya spared them a glance. Ichigo was the only member of the press visible, the older man noted with relief; while the boy’s manners remained atrocious, his instincts were excellent and his writing refreshingly free of bias and conjecture.

_Not to mention he has earned Rukia’s favor, which is no small accomplishment._

While his dislike for the towhead had long since faded, Byakuya saw no need to put the Kurosaki brat at ease by revealing as much. The inspector allowed himself a small smirk as he continued to listen to their jovial taunts while analyzing the crime scene. Pulling out another pair of gloves, he rolled the corpse over partially, his hand on the dead man’s lapel as he looked the body over. The fabric under his hand gave way unexpectedly, and he pulled back to examine the collar of the coat.

It was hard to identify, drenched as it was in blood and crushed under the body’s weight, but Byakuya traced a downtrodden boutonnière with his nimble fingers and shuddered.

_That would explain the irregularities in the blood_ , he reasoned as he eyed the thickened, shriveled petals dotting the pool of gore. The realization did not relieve his growing feeling of unease. He stood slowly and breathed through the searing spasms in his lower back, staring at the crushed blooms for a moment more before moving back to the alley.

_I wonder what sort of flowers those are?_ Byakuya stepped toward the younger corpse, pausing first and reminding himself of the camera watching him overhead. His steel eyes trailed over the man’s form and took in the zippered pockets along the front of the deceased’s leather coat. With as much grace as his aching spine could muster, the aristocrat slid one fine-boned hand along the dank brick wall as his other opened the right breast pocket of the dead blonde’s jacket.  When his downward descent came to a stop he retrieved an empty evidence bag from his own coat; with bated breath he withdrew a flattened, but otherwise intact bouquet from the murder victim’s pocket.

The morning glories were dazzling, even in the weak amber light cast by the streetlamps, with deep indigo petals surrounding ivory, stellate cores. _Completely out of season_ , he mused at the unfurled blooms, _and perhaps a night-blooming variety?_ Byakuya shoved the thought aside when he noticed the other flowers of garish orange and yellow peeking out of the morning glories like lightning through fog.

_Marigolds._

_Could it be?_

The Kuchiki heir exhaled sharply and stood too abruptly, head spinning and backside freezing a few degrees short of upright.

“Doin’ all right there, Kuchiki-kun?”

Urahara regarded him with unreadable eyes as he removed equipment from his kit.

“Of course,” Byakuya forced ice into his voice. “Who do you think you are talking to?”

“Um, the guy that’s been limping around and pulling flowers out of thin air?”

The medical examiner unfurled a body bag before reaching for a roll of tape. Their eyes met again.

“You think that’s another message?” Kisuke continued when the homicide detective remained silent. He placed small plastic bags around the dead man’s hands and taped them in place.

“Perhaps.” The inspector’s expressionless face revealed nothing as he deposited the bouquet into another bag. “Though my theories are less relevant than the evidence trail.”

“I didn’t expect such modesty from you, detective,” Urahara continued to secure the body for transport.

“I didn’t expect such tolerance for whimsical thinking from you, doctor.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, Kuchiki-kun. A scientific mind considers all information, whether it can be easily explained or not. Under the circumstances, I don’t think we can afford to be picky about where our leads come from.” Kisuke stood and nodded to the morgue workers waiting at the mouth of the alley with stretchers. “Nor is it a great time to refuse help or keep friends at arm’s length.”

“What friends?” The words came out of his mouth quite easily, to his horror. Byakuya wouldn’t let himself react to his blunder, choosing instead to make his way out of the alley in silence.

“And there’s your problem,” Urahara sighed and turned his attention back to the corpse.

Byakuya reached the open air of the market, inhaling slowly as the insistent discomfort in his temples blossomed into a full-blown headache. Looking first to the ‘hidden’ camera on the fire escape, his eyes then trailed over every shadowed nook and cranny, each rooftop and storefront sign in the empty promenade.

_There could be multiple surveillance devices in this area_ , the noble frowned as he gradually surveyed the marketplace from all angles, as if eyes were peering at him from every direction. _Is it simply coincidence that two local luminaries met their end here?_

His gaze dropped to the bagged flowers in his grasp.

_Is this your doing, Gin? You’ve left no direct forensic evidence, and though I know not the reason, such hints of your involvement may simply be another of Aizen’s deceptions._

The throbbing pain battering at his skull increased, and he considered his untouched coffee within Renji’s care. Taking a deep breath and releasing some of his troubling thoughts, the aristocrat moved towards the perimeter of the market and the police barricade located there. Byakuya closed in on the crime-scene tape, taking in the broad shoulders of his lieutenant shaking as the tattooed man laughed with Ichigo in between phone calls.

The noble took the last step forward, his discomfort with the intrusion known only to himself.

“I believe I am ready for the coffee now, Abarai.”

Renji wheeled around, blinking in surprise at the bagged flowers that the stoic noble offered without ado.

“That bouquet is to get top priority in trace and processing,” the somber inspector instructed, “along with any video footage obtained here. There will need to be an extensive sweep of the area for any additional cameras, and canvasing of the vendors must take place this morning.”

“You got it, boss.” The redhead’s expressive eyes held surprise and concern, but the younger man said nothing that might betray his superior’s discomfort. He handed over the espresso without another word and passed the evidence bag off to the arriving forensics team.

Byakuya nodded and sipped at the cooled coffee, his eyelids closing for a moment in response to the bitter, heady brew.

“Hey, Byakuya.” Kurosaki’s bravado held firm as the inspector turned to look at him. “What’s up with you guys and flowers, lately?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo.” The noble ignored the overly familiar salutation and considered his lieutenant’s friend with a contemplative eye.

_Here stands another innocent, bound not by duty or vow, but by his desire to protect, who will likely come to harm as a result._ Byakuya looked to his lieutenant, then back to the blonde reporter. _Both of you are reckless in self-sacrifice, and neither will be deterred by the threat of a powerful, unscrupulous enemy._

The aristocrat watched as the dead man’s bouquet was taken into evidence.

_If I explained…if I disregarded procedure and gave you full access to the findings of these ongoing investigations, would it make you…or my sister…or my lieutenant any safer, or any more likely to survive what is to come? Is this the cost of friendship?_

“That is none of your concern,” Byakuya finally answered the question in a monotone as he gave the reporter a look of dismissal.

_Leave well enough alone, Kurosaki Ichigo._

The Kuchiki heir turned away before the young man could respond; Renji whispered something to his scowling friend before jogging to catch the inspector. Byakuya took a draught of his espresso as motorcycle boot-clad feet fell into step beside him.

_You will not heed my warnings either, will you, Renji? I cannot shake the feeling that by binding yourself more tightly to me, you are cutting off your means of escape...and survival._

The noble’s steel eyes traveled upward, pausing on the redhead’s splinted wrist. The stoic man wished, for an instant, that he could take his beloved’s hand; he made no move to do so, however, and it was not the threat of hidden cameras that literally stilled his hand.

Renji took a quick breath as if preparing to speak, though he remained silent as they returned to the center of the crime scene. Byakuya pressed his lips together into a fine line, the blood pulsing in his ears the only sound registering within his consciousness. A wave of nausea passed over him as his headache worsened; he frowned at his ineffectual coffee and took another sip of the lukewarm brew.

_The honeymoon is over._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

*While the _seppuku_ ritual typically involved a left-to-right cut across the abdomen [or at the least a gesture of reaching for a weapon to make said incision] before an assistant would strike off the involved samurai’s head, there was a more intensive variation known as _j_ _ῡmonji giri_ (literally, ‘cross-shaped cut,’) that consisted of the first horizontal, left to right incision, followed by a more painful vertical cut into the abdomen. There was no second to dispatch the victim quickly; the samurai performing the ritual would be expected to quietly bleed to death as a result of his wounds.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m gonna fuckin’ punch someone.”
> 
> “That is good to know, Abarai. Did you have anyone in mind?”
> 
> Beta'd by leila-blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, unsavory bits.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Four_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“I’m gonna fuckin’ punch someone.”

“That is good to know, Abarai. Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Nah, too many candidates,” Renji muttered quietly in deference to his superior’s raging headache. “Can’t believe they leaked it before we even cleared the scene.”

“I would have been more surprised had the mainstream press not been informed,” the Kuchiki heir strode smoothly through the parking garage, his lieutenant two steps behind. “Given the amount of video surveillance…”

“Good point; I’ve been to some concerts with fewer cameras on-site than that market.” Renji made a guttural noise and tugged at his tie. “S’probably already on YouTube, isn’t it?”

“It is possible,” Byakuya allowed, shaking his head at the notion of such footage being aired in the public arena. “Are you unwell?”

“Too much coffee on an empty stomach.” The redhead opened the door, ushering his captain into headquarters far from the madding crowds teeming at the street-level entrance opposite the parking structure. “Think I’ll survive, though.”

“That is a relief,” Byakuya declared drolly, though he frowned with the realization that both his usual headache medicine and Renji’s favorite antacid were beyond reach in their off-limits, crime-scene of an office.

“We’re gonna be stuck workin’ in the bullpen, aren’t we?” Renji grunted again as his thoughts ran in a similar vein.

“Perhaps we can commandeer Kyouraku-keishi-chō’s office,” the noble suggested, “as it may be the first time in years that any work is done within it.”

“Hah! I bet Nanao gets a boatload done while the boss is asleep,” the redhead imagined, a grin blossoming on his face before fading just as fast. “You don’t think Ichigo’s the leak, do you?”

“No.” _It would be the end of his career as a legitimate journalist, not to mention what I would do to him on Rukia’s behalf…_ the aristocrat contemplated with another frown _._ “Misguided sense of fairness aside, I do not believe Kurosaki-kun would willingly divulge sensitive information in this manner.”

“Yeah,” Renji sighed in relief for his friend’s acquittal. “The berry wouldn’t shoot himself in the foot and ruin an exclusive story by dropping hints to the tabloids, either.”

“Precisely. I believe the impetus for publicizing these murders is likely from the perpetrators themselves.” Byakuya turned into the locker room, his lieutenant in tow.

The detectives deposited coats and outerwear in their respective, creaking lockers. Renji watched his superior’s narrow fingers spin the dial on his combination lock before breaking the silence.

“Speakin’ of privacy, or lack of…wanna swing by the office?” The tattooed man kept his tone calm and level, hands most definitely not fidgeting at his sides.

“If it will not interfere with our work on the new case,” Byakuya managed in a diplomatic, equally neutral voice. He kept his eyes on the locker door before him, assessing his lieutenant’s slightly rigid posture in his peripheral vision.

“You mean, if I can manage it without flippin’ my lid?” The redhead’s large hands balled into fists before dropping limp and loose. He sighed. “Honestly, I think I’ll be more distracted if I don’t go look in on what they’re doin’ in our space. We gotta go back at some point, anyway, and I’d rather see first-hand what’s goin’ on.”

Byakuya turned to look at his taller companion. “I agree. I dislike the idea of our office being…disturbed as such, but there is no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“Okay.” Renji reached out, smoothing a strand of silky obsidian hair back as he ran his rough fingertips along his captain’s cheek. “You ready for this?”

“Of course.” Byakuya read the concern in amber eyes and raised his chin in quiet defiance. “Between gauche floral arrangements and the mess left behind by crime scene investigators, a long-overdue renovation for that relic of an office may finally come to pass.”

“Really?” Renji flashed a crooked smile that stretched up to the crinkled corners of his eyes. “I like the sound of that; we won’t let the bastards get us down.”

“Indeed.” Covering the tanned hand with his own and giving it a light squeeze, the blue blood swept out of the locker room and down the cluttered hall towards their office.

“You think the department will spring for a face-lift?” The redhead wondered as he trotted behind the inspector, noting the occasional sprig of mistletoe and evergreen boughs draped over doorways.

“Not at all,” Byakuya declared, regarding with derision the ‘frost’ layering over the hallway windows which had originated from a spray can. “Given the glacial pace and questionable aesthetics typical for these premises, I shall finance the improvements myself.” 

“Ooh! While you’re at it, a hot tub would be nice…half a’those showers in the locker room don’t work, anyway,” Renji’s grin broadened as they walked. “We could put a taiyaki cart in the lobby -”

The Kuchiki stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder, directing a _‘you are talking nonsense, Abarai’_ look at the near-giddy redhead to his rear.

“Aw, come on, a hot tub would be awesome,” Renji continued, enthusiasm undaunted.

“Not at work,” Byakuya countered, resuming his usual, nearly-floating gait. He allowed himself a tiny smirk at the odd noise that escaped his subordinate a moment later as the implications of his last statement sank in.

“A trip to an outdoor onsen would be a sweet way to celebrate the New Year, eh?” The redhead supplied helpfully, his voice suddenly thick and rich with want.

“Yes,” the inspector agreed as heat flooded his face. He didn’t dare turn around; the weight of the younger man’s stare was affecting him enough at it was. “Perhaps you could make do with a stay at the family chalet?”

“As in, the palace in the foothills that Rukia’s always ravin’ about? Oh, _hell_ yeah…”

_Christmas present, check._ Inwardly, Byakuya beamed with satisfaction, relieved that his invitation was met with something other than the stammered, flimsy excuses offered in years past.  His flawless exterior, meanwhile, navigated around a ladder stationed haphazardly in the center of the hallway as they neared their defunct workspace.

“G-good morning, Kuchiki-keibu, Abarai-keibu-ho!” A bespectacled young lady chirped, bowing as she greeted them.

A number of jumpsuit-clad individuals stopped their work and bowed bonnet-covered heads in deference. The captain nodded curtly in return, pleased that only a few stray petals littered the floor of the office, less than pleased at the man standing on his desk, head and shoulders occupying a space where a ceiling drop-tile used to be.

“Yo.” The sleepy-eyed man with dark, spiky hair crouched down, bracing a hand on the Kuchiki’s desk.

“Hey, Akon. How’s the weather up there?” Renji saluted, craning his neck around to peer into the hole in the ceiling.

“Cloudy, chance of snow. G’mornin,’ sir,” Akon nodded apologetically to the quiet captain before going on. “We’ll finish by tomorrow morning, but it’ll probably take another day to go through the closet…per protocol.”

“Very well,” Byakuya allowed, already contemplating a sleek replacement for his sullied desk.

“Anything interesting?” The tattooed man wondered, waving at a petite, pigtailed technician who blushed cherry-red.

“No spy cams, if that’s what you mean,” Akon replied, brushing off a smear of fingerprinting powder from his pant leg.

“You heard?” Renji cringed, the speed with which gossip spread through the department taking his breath away.

“Yep. Though to be fair, we did an r.f. sweep yesterday and came up empty,” the investigator explained. “That’s not to say this is a total wash, though.”

“Come on, man, yer killin’ me. Whatcha got?” The redhead crossed his arms, resisting the urge to tap his foot.

Byakuya arched an eyebrow, prompting Akon to clear his throat.

“Extra cables and signal splitters.”

“Signal splitters?” Renji echoed, assuming by his captain’s almost-surprised expression that the information was significant.

“A simple, but effective, way to monitor all network activity,” the systems expert explained as he displayed the unassuming plastic-coated gadget. “It’s the same thing you’d use to route cable to a number of TVs in a house or apartment; it literally takes one incoming stream of data and divvies it up towards at least two different destinations.”

“Um,” Renji began, gears turning furiously, “so this doohickey’s been wired into the network?”

“Yeah. While the splitter itself isn’t unusual, one was installed backwards from what you’d expect. Instead of splitting the incoming wiring to branch out to parts of the building, it split the outgoing connection in two; one to the phone company, and one to who knows where. We also found a ‘mystery cable’ splitting off from the incoming line and diverted directly into this unknown outgoing line. Organizations dabbling in national security do essentially the same thing to duplicate and monitor all incoming data from foreign sources,” Akon explained as the detectives glanced at each other.

“Rather than hacking in or setting up extra surveillance equipment, someone’s been essentially watching every keystroke and bit of data that comes in or goes out of the department, and would have the same access as any other user to the national databases, for example.” Akon continued, bouncing the offending splitter in his gloved hand with a whistle. “A quick and dirty way to spy on the whole force; we’d never have found it without a manual search like this.”

“Why here, in our office, of all places?” The redhead wondered, incredulous.

“Oh, that,” Akon bagged the splitter and labeled it as he crouched on the captain’s desk. “In a building this age the wiring’s pretty piecemeal, original phone lines drilled in pretty willy-nilly and the like. Your office bears the dubious distinction of being along the closest exterior wall to the street, so when we upgraded from dial-up, the dead space above the drop-ceiling was the easiest spot to run new cables through, as the phone company already had a bunch of lines up there. From the look of the splitter and the mystery cables, they’ve been there as long as the DSL lines have, just hiding out in the insulation.”

Byakuya felt his brows knit together. _Aizen would have just graduated from the Academy when the network was installed…_

“Any clue as to who’s doin’ the spyin?’” A deep, dark shadow had fallen over Renji’s countenance.

“We’re on it.” Akon slipped off the desk and brushed his knees off again. “The phone company is trying to save face, but there’s a warrant for access to the central server and all the external cables, including the extra lines, in progress. It’s next on the docket, right after we look at your crime scene footage, okay?”

“Okay.”

Renji’s sturdy hands were balled into fists again, and Byakuya’s throat tightened in silent sympathy. Both detectives watched the well-meaning forensics team swarm over their office like so many ants, fingerprint powder and floral detritus scattered throughout the formerly hallowed and harmonious environment.

_It will take more than a change in décor to restore the sanctity of this space._

“We will meet you in your department in twenty minutes, if that is acceptable,” Byakuya offered, turning on his heel without awaiting a response.

“Sure thing, I’ll make sure Rin’s got the feed spooled up.” Akon turned his attention back to his crew as the detectives abandoned their office for the neutral territory of the hallway.

Renji pulled the door shut with a heavy sigh when a pale hand came to rest on his chest.

“Rooftop,” the Kuchiki suggested softly, and his assistant followed him up and out of the building without a word.

It was only when they both stood at the railing, witnessing a few feeble rays of winter light escaping the thick cloud cover, that Renji found his voice.

“I know I should be glad,” he began in subdued tones. “If it weren’t for the flower bombing, they wouldn’t have found that splitter thing, and we wouldn’t have a clue where the security breach was, but…”

“Violated,” Byakuya stated simply. “I feel that way, too.”

“Yeah, and I…” His voice threatened to crack. “Is this how it’s gonna be, where we’re so paranoid that we can’t even talk in the fuckin’ building?”

The quiet captain looked at his colleague for a long moment before speaking.

“For a time, yes,” the Kuchiki admitted, redirecting his gaze into the foggy morning. “We _will_ regain our office, and some semblance of normalcy, and until then, we will work to the best of our ability under less than ideal circumstances.”

Renji leaned forward, planting his hands on the slick railing with a heavy exhale.

“I will request a few days’ leave on our behalf when this case is closed,” Byakuya went on in an attempt to soothe, “and will secure breakfast for you before we review the crime scene video footage.”

“Um, what?” The redhead blinked, startled, and turned to stare at his superior.

“Food, Abarai. You perform better when you have a steady supply of it.”

The suave inspector could not produce any further speech, engulfed as he was in a tight embrace.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” Renji rasped right into his ear, which flushed furiously in response. “S’drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, bein’ near you and all when I ain’t supposed to touch you.”

“Nonsense,” Byakuya whispered, breathless, throat closing from the inside out.

_Do not say such things to me._

“D-don’t,” Renji managed with some difficulty, pressing his face into his lover’s hair. “Just…”

Both men abandoned speech and poured themselves into the embrace, relishing the other’s warmth and the press of sturdy, unyielding arms.

“I’ll not shy away from your touch,” the stoic captain said minutes later when the tension between them ebbed, “and while I would prefer a certain amount of discretion in public, I shall not hide my feelings for you, either.”

Renji slid a large, warm hand between the smaller man’s shoulder blades and pressed his lips against the pale forehead, sighing. “Sounds good to me, boss. I’ll make tea and meet you downstairs.”

“Very well.” Byakuya kissed the taller man gently on the mouth before turning and walking away.

An arm of mist stretched between the noble and the stairway, tendrils of fog alighting on his hair and chilled, rosy cheeks. Words of greater import remained trapped on his tongue, and the weight of Renji’s stare sat heavily upon his shoulders as he pushed open the door.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Welcome, gents.” Akon casually spun around on a stool, eyebrows twitching upward. “Did you bring popcorn for the movie?”

“No. I hope bagels will suffice?” Byakuya opened a large box and held it out to the assembled men.

“Works for me,” the spiky-haired man replied, swiping a bagel and a tub of cream cheese with mumbled thanks. “Who’s the cupcake for?”

“Me,” two voices chimed in simultaneously as hands went blindly reaching for the confection.

“Now, now,” the Kuchiki chided, lifting the box out of reach. “There is one cupcake, and one éclair, which you will divide as rational adults.”

“Yes, sir,” Renji and a small, adolescent-appearing youth muttered in synchrony.

“Go for it, Rin,” the redhead allowed graciously, to which the tiny technician emitted an ‘eep’ and claimed the cupcake.

Renji was halfway through the éclair when he became distracted by his captain’s hands, pale and lovely as the rest of the man, though trembling badly as the Kuchiki spread a wicked-appearing crimson concoction on his bagel.

“Too much caffeine,” Byakuya stated placidly in response to the redhead’s first unvoiced question, “and hot pepper paste,” to answer the second.

“Ugh,” the tattooed man licked a layer of chocolate frosting and cream off his upper lip before stuffing the remainder of the pastry into his mouth, unaware of the Kuchiki’s dark eyes widening at the sight.

“Let’s get started,” Akon spoke around a bite of bagel, gesturing for Tsubokura Rin to show the detectives the recently obtained footage. “This is from the market’s security cam. We’re still waiting on the ATM tape.”

“It wasn’t a dummy?” Renji remarked, mouth still full.

“No, but the camera’s motion activated,” Rin piped up, tiny fingers flying over the keyboard, “and besides the images being grainy, they’re also kinda choppy.”

“Not to mention that motion detectors aren’t foolproof,” Akon announced as he went after more cream cheese with a flimsy plastic knife. “They time off in pre-determined cycles, and if something is moving slowly enough, they might not even get triggered in the first place.”

“Very well,” Byakuya managed to keep most of his impatience out of his voice. “What do you have?”

“This is from market closing time yesterday,” Rin indicated the timestamp of 21:00.

“Nothing from earlier in the week?” The Kuchiki heir’s bagel was untouched; he, for one, refused to talk with his mouth full. _It may only be the ATM’s camera, then, that holds any clues as to who painted the fire escape and installed all of the hidden cameras in the market._

“Um, no,” the tiny technician squeaked in an apologetic tone. “They only have two tapes and they’ve recorded over everything earlier than 48 hours ago.”

Renji grumbled something akin to ‘cheap ass bastards’ while the four men watched the monitor and the black and white video of last-minute shoppers scurrying around the marketplace. There were a few breaks in sequence as the crowd dwindled, the camera flickering on and off as vendors closed and locked their stalls.

“Wow, look at the size of that cat,” the redhead exclaimed as a fluffy feline with tail held high stalked through the alley just after eleven. He turned to his silent captain. “Wish we’d get more daytime calls; I think the last, what, three or four in a row were after dark?”

Byakuya blinked at him. “Are you complaining that more people aren’t killing each other in broad daylight?”

Renji shrunk a bit in his seat and looked back to the footage of nocturnal feline exploits. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Akon started to chuckle while the inspector’s eyelids drooped in amusement.

“Hey!” The tattooed lieutenant tried a put-out expression that devolved into a grin. “Stop la- oh, wait, there they are.”

Rin paused the video before rewinding it to the start of the sequence.

“Right at midnight, eh?” Renji said, mostly to himself, as he scribbled in his notebook.

The four observers leaned in slightly as Rin resumed the feed. Two shadowy figures moved clumsily into the alley, grasping at each other as one nearly stumbled, pushing the other against the brick wall. The taller figure stepped forward, his eyeglasses glinting in the darkness as the space between the men disappeared.

“The one on the right’s Aramaki,” Renji gestured at the bespectacled statesman. “But what’re they doin’?”

As the three other investigators moved closer to the screen, Byakuya calmly took a bite of his bagel, the tangy Sriracha atop it making his mouth water. At that moment, the on-screen Representative began to grope the reporter rather vigorously as the men continued to kiss.

“Oh.” Renji commented in a small voice as the forensics duo blushed in tandem.

“Oi,” Akon grunted uncomfortably, while Rin peeked at the screen between his fingers.

Sipping his tea, the Kuchiki maintained a stoic façade as Assemblyman Aramaki eventually dropped to his knees before the younger man.

“What the -” Renji abandoned the thought as the video image of Takahiro Yoshi let his head drop back in ecstasy as the other began to pleasure him.

“You’re too young for this,” the redhead explained hastily as he surged forward and covered Rin’s eyes with his hands.

“What about me?!” Akon squawked, growing noticeably more flustered. “My eyeballs are bleedin’ here, dude!”

“This from the guy with horn implants?” Renji fired back, ignoring Rin’s attempts to dislodge his makeshift blindfold.

It took everything in Byakuya’s extensive arsenal of self-control not to let his amusement show. He kept one steely eye on the thankfully low-definition video, the other trained on his lieutenant’s efforts to maintain order and the virtue of his colleagues.

“Don’t judge by appearances, pineapple!” Akon managed a minute later, squinting through parted fingers just as Rin had moments before.

“I’d never’ve figured you for a prude.”

Byakuya could hear the smirk in Renji’s voice, though the angular face was turned away from him.

“Oh, don’t even.” Akon shook his head at the screen, willing the traumatizing experience to end quickly. “I really didn’t need to see _those_ guys doing…well… _that_.”

“I think they’re done,” Renji offered. A beat of silence followed, then the redhead’s cackling laughter filled the lab. “Hah! Gotcha!”

“You are not right,” Akon winced, looking away again.

“That’s pretty rich, coming from a guy that scrapes up brains and body fluids from God-knows-where for a living,” the bronzed lieutenant chuckled to himself in disbelief. “All right, I really think it’s over now.”

The redhead released Rin and jostled Akon’s shoulder. Renji gave his captain a quick glance and a grin that highlighted the raging blush on his cheeks; Byakuya, in turn, allowed his lips to curve upwards ever so slightly before directing his attention back to the screen.

“I wonder when…” Renji trailed off as the image of the statesman staggered awkwardly to his feet. “Come to think of it, they weren’t movin’ too well when they walked onstage…like they’re doped up?”

“It is possible,” the captain assented, “and might explain their disinhibited behavior.”

Before Renji could reply, Representative Aramaki tugged something out of his back pocket; after steadying his young lover with a hand to the chest, he drew the object across the other’s throat in a sudden, violent surge.

“Holy shit,” the tattooed man leaned forward, jaw dropping.

Four pairs of eyes watched the news anchor slump out of the frame without any visible resistance or any further movement.

“Stop the film.”

Byakuya’s command was obeyed without hesitation. He rose and laid a hand gently on Rin’s tensed shoulder; the young man turned to him, eyes wide and face pallid.

“Thank you for your assistance,” the Kuchiki’s calm baritone filled the space. “I believe that Akon can show us the rest of the tape.”

Rin nodded gratefully and exited the room without a word. The older forensics expert slid into his seat, fingers moving effortlessly over the console.

_Though all of us are experienced investigators, working a crime scene is a far cry from actually watching another person die._

“Do I wanna know?” Akon muttered as he prepared to resume the footage, his heavy lidded eyes following the noble-born inspector back to his seat.

“Harakiri,” Byakuya replied without ado.

“Shit,” Akon shook his head as he pressed play, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” Renji seconded in a hushed voice as the middle-aged politician managed a few swaying steps towards the camera, opening his coat and tearing at the buttons of his dress shirt as he sank to his knees again.

Chest and abdomen quickly laid bare, the assemblyman turned the knife on himself, stabbing into the left side of his abdomen and pulling the knife over the umbilicus and to the right margin of his ribcage. _No hesitation_ , Byakuya noted, _though his movements lack coordination; the pain is said to be excruciating, and yet he seems to feel nothing at all…_

Renji hissed while Akon cursed under his breath as the late representative plunged the blade in again, this time at the base of his sternum. The man completed the downward cut, creating a cruciate wound before withdrawing the knife again. The aristocrat made note of the timestamp as the mortally injured man turned the weapon in his hand one last time.

The onscreen politician tipped his head back as he opened his mouth; even Byakuya’s eyes widened as the man forced the knife down his own throat, swallowing the blade before slumping forward onto the pavement.

The three investigators watched in silence as the film went on, the screen stilling for a couple of minutes before a new image flickered into view; Renji made a sound of recognition as a bearded man wearing a knit cap strode into the frame and literally tripped over the body.

“That’s the fishmonger that called it in, at…quarter after four,” the redhead explained; they watched several minutes more of the video feed, pausing the image when Urahara Kisuke passed before the camera.

“Damn,” Akon muttered not for the first time, a bit gray around the gills.

“Yeah…” Renji murmured in a strained voice, to his superior’s surprise; while Byakuya expected the crime scene technicians to be affected by the violent images, he felt certain that something else must be responsible for his veteran subordinate’s discomfort.

“Are you unwell?” the Kuchiki heir inquired quietly, to which the redhead nodded.

“Stomach’s…a little…off…” Renji admitted with some reluctance, as though his blanched, perspiring face would not betray his distress.

“Do you need a doctor?” Byakuya did his best to keep the alarm from his voice.

“No way…I just…I’ll catch up,” the tattooed man finished hastily, jumping out of his chair and running towards the nearest restroom.

The noble stood, planning to follow his lieutenant but fighting the urge to chase after him carelessly. Instead, he turned to the seated figure of Akon. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” the C.S.I. waved his hand dismissively as he scrolled through the rest of the tape. “I’ll need some beer to wipe those images outta my head, but I’ll live. I’ll double check Rin’s work and call if anything else turns up.”

Byakuya nodded and swept out of the room, moving cautiously through the cluttered hallway as he slipped into the bathroom. He came to the one occupied stall, Renji’s booted feet abutting the door as the young man knelt and emptied his stomach contents into the toilet bowl.

“Are you all right?” The inspector queried when the sounds of retching died down for a moment.

“Yeah,” Renji croaked. “Ugh…I hope I’m not pregnant.”

Byakuya sighed and let his forehead rest against the stall door, almost amused at his beleaguered lieutenant’s attempt at humor.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” the tattooed man rasped. “Go take a load off. I’ll feel bad if you get sick from listening to me puke.”

“Very well, though if you do not make egress within fifteen minutes, I will take you to the hospital myself.”

“Oh, bah,” Renji retorted queasily. “I’ve had worse from hangovers.”

“I see,” Byakuya’s eyes drifted shut, _though I generally do not feel responsible under those circumstances._ “I will leave you to it, then.”

It was only when the door closed behind him that the choking and heaving resumed. The noble sighed again, his own stomach turning slightly in pity as he began to make his way to the break room, his mind drifting back to the morning’s case.

_This will be a media circus_ , he thought with disdain. _I cannot begin to fathom the tribulations visited upon the Representative’s wife and children…and it is doubtful that she would take his place in the National Assembly in the midst of this scandal. I wonder at whom the party will put forth in the deceased’s place, though it takes little imagination to divine who arranged and will benefit from the charade of their deaths._

_Aizen Sosuke, you will have earned a worldwide audience for your biochemical warfare, and with free advertising to boot. I do not believe for an instant that those men acted of their own volition, though the perversion of an ‘honorable’ act fits your m.o. precisely._

Another wave of nausea swept over him as his headache made a comeback, and the potent scent of cinnamon and sugar wafting in from the lounge did nothing to ameliorate his symptoms. A few squeals and bright peals of youthful laughter reached his ears and his footfalls slowed, only his stubborn pride propelling him forward into the crowded break room.  

“Hey, Byakki, there you are!”

Yachiru was on a course to intercept; he caught the pink-coiffed dynamo under the arms as she nearly seized on his scarf with glitter-caked hands. His lower back gave a twinge of warning but otherwise did not compromise his defense.

“What are you doing?” Byakuya asked as he quickly surveyed the room, noting the recent addition of glitter-streaked paper chains and ornaments dangling from the ceiling, while a number of artificial trees camouflaged with generous amounts of tinsel crowded the floor space and countertops.

“Decorating!” Yachiru shouted with glee, waving her arms and dusting his formerly dark coat with glitter. “We finished Ken-chan’s office, so he said we could ‘spread the love’ around in here next.”

Byakuya blinked slowly, vaguely recalling the bet he’d won with Kenpachi that led to the lounge’s current predicament.

_What are they thinking?_ Dispassionate steel eyes touched lightly on each adult in the room. _Allowing children to run amok the day after a bomb threat…_

“Hey, Lilinette, you missed a spot,” the tiny, pink-haired girl directed her lanky blond compatriot, who scrambled up onto the counter with a grumble to affix a construction-paper snowflake to a window.

The noble set Yachiru down without another word as a chorus of laughter erupted behind him. Kyouraku and Stark chuckled into their eggnog as the school girls continued to run amok in a decorative swarm, a sleepy-eyed Hisagi Shuuhei politely sipping his drink in their midst.

_So, the editor of ‘The Bulletin’ is meeting with the Chief Superintendent and the Assistant District Attorney…my estimation of Kurosaki’s intuition and discretion was not amiss._ Byakuya sighed quietly. _I suppose I should be grateful that at least one sensible telling of the tale will appear in the press._

 “All right, ladies, stop hoggin’ the pot,” Kenpachi growled, making his way through his S.W.A.T. operatives to get to the coffee.

“Yours is right here, Captain,” Yumichika sang sweetly, handing a full Styrofoam cup over to his commanding officer.

“What’s all this shit?” Zaraki directed a baleful eye towards the sweetened and cream-laden brew. “Tryin’ to poison me?”

“Hardly,” Ayasegawa laughed, shaking his head. “Office swill is much more palatable this way.”

A sour taste rose in Byakuya’s throat as he listened to their exchange.

_Coffee._

_Poison._

The nausea clawing at his midsection took on new urgency.

_What sort of fool purchases food and drink in close proximity to a crime scene…from potential suspects?_ The aristocrat considered the several cups of espresso roiling in his gut and trying to make an escape. _Were I not a love-struck simpleton, this would not have happened…if you come to any lasting harm, Renji, I will never forgive myself._

“This is for you.”

Byakuya noticed belatedly that Yachiru was speaking to him again, her sticky hands holding a rhinestone-laden plastic tiara aloft as an offering.

“Ken-chan says that, bet or no bet, a princess ought to look like one,” the girl went on, eyes as wide as her smile.

“Is that so?” The homicide inspector managed with a neutral expression, feeling entirely too ill for further comment.

Ignoring the proffered crown, he cast a quick glance about in search of an escape route though the subtle movement made his head spin. Byakuya closed his eyes, reaching for his waning control with several deep breaths.

“What’s eatin’ ya, Kuchiki?” Zaraki gruffed curiously.

_I must look terrible for that barbarian to notice_ , the noble winced and lifted his heavy eyelids partially before they widened in surprise.

Hundreds upon hundreds of diamonds were raining down from the break room ceiling.

Byakuya blinked, but the gemstones did not disappear; tiny jewels bounced off of Yachiru’s hair, falling into Kenpachi’s coffee and layering onto the floor in a sparkling carpet. The faceted jewels continued to fall, accompanied by ruby-red rose petals that fluttered to the ground like autumn leaves disturbed by an early hail storm. He turned and opened his hand, watching the diamonds drop softly onto his palm.

_I cannot feel them…and no one else seems to notice them…_

_Is this a hallucination?_

“Byakki? Would you rather have some candy?” Yachiru inquired, setting her crown aside and pulling a crumpled bag of konpeito from her pocket.

“No, thank you,” the homicide detective found his voice.

Momentarily struck by the contrast between the rhinestones within the tiara and the vibrant gems falling around him, Byakuya glanced back up at the ceiling as the precipitation of gemstones slowed. The typically off-white drop tiles were stained a rusty, reddish-brown, the rain of rose petals accompanied by a steady trickle of dark blood.

The Kuchiki heir stifled a gasp and pressed his lips together into a tight line as warm liquid splashed the back of his head, running in rivulets down his neck and beneath his collar. Unable to resist the temptation, he ran a tremulous hand through his hair and blinked at the clotted blood there in disbelief.

_What..._

Something moved in his peripheral vision; Byakuya looked away from his bloody fingers to take in a break room floor suddenly teeming with beetles, a multitude of iridescent bodies swarming over the scuffed linoleum tiles. He watched as the few remaining diamonds metamorphosed into insects as blood dripped onto and congealed over them, pincers and clicking limbs emerging from the gore in ever-increasing numbers.

_What is this?_

_Renji…_

He wanted to go to his lieutenant, but his feet would not move; though he could feel the bugs creeping and crawling up over his shoes and pant legs, the noble’s body did not afford him the opportunity to escape.

The ringing in his ears rose up to swallow the voices around him; likewise, the black spots crowding the edge of his vision expanded and stole his sight before he could close his eyes.

All thoughts fell away as Byakuya surrendered his consciousness to the encroaching void.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t have to be psychic to know there’s some sick fuck behind this,” Kenpachi summarized.
> 
> Beta'd by leila-blue.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Five_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

The waning, tangerine rays of late afternoon light backlit the surrounding skyscrapers, the buildings jutting up like uneven teeth in an overused saw.

The man stretched, limbs sprawling as he momentarily contemplated drawing the mesh shade; he thought better of it, though, as he watched his few fellow patrons squint and squirm in the blinding sunlight.

There were times that keeping one’s eyelids perpetually lowered served a purpose.

He allowed his keen eyes to survey the penthouse lounge again before settling back on his own table and the man sitting alongside him. Watching through silver lashes as his companion remained still and preoccupied with his iPad, he elected to follow a drop of condensation along its journey from lip to base of the other man’s barely touched vodka martini.

The liquid reached the cocktail napkin beneath the glass and disappeared into the warping planes of the embossed paper. He sighed and started to whistle aimlessly, attention drifting to seek a source of amusement from the well-heeled clientele of the private club’s bar.

“You’re back to that tune again.” Placid brown eyes flicked toward him, a single strand of wavy hair shifting to settle between motionless brows.

“Yeah, guess so,” he admitted with a drawl, “still can’t say as I remember the name of it.”

“Hmm,” his companion offered in a non-committal baritone. “It’s unlike you to get bored so quickly.”

“Aw, I ain’t bored. This’s the most fun I’ve had in months.”

A knowing smile crossed the other man’s carefully schooled features. “Indeed. I should think so, with all the havoc wreaked across the way.”

He allowed himself a smirk as he lifted his drink in a toast to the police headquarters neatly framed in the opposite wall’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “Yep, a little good, clean fun keeps everyone from gettin’ bored or lonely.”

“Now, now, that’s not nice,” the brunette chided with a chuckle. “Would you really fault them for a bit of sentimentality?”

“Absolutely.” Now he grinned his predatory best.

“I’m shocked,” came a mellifluous, mirthful rebuke. “And they claim I’m the monster.”

Sensing a moment of unusually generous joviality in his companion, he changed the subject. “So, whatcha watchin?’”

“The bird’s-eye view from the fire escape,” the other replied smoothly with a smile. “Pity that the best footage won’t hit the press for another day or two.”

“Not on Channel Seven, anyway,” he ran a finger around the rim of his gin fizz. “I thought the ATM clips were pretty memorable.”

“Ah, but that didn’t show the most interesting part.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows, careful to keep his hooded lids still; it was best to act interested, but not reveal any genuine surprise, to the man before him.

“Mmm-hmm,” his companion purred like a sated cat while shifting the tablet in his lap. “I won’t keep you in suspense.”

He made out the familiar form of the deceased newscaster as his lounge-mate tapped the ‘play’ button with an extended index finger; moments later, a familiar figure came into view, luminous skin and onyx hair creating striking contrast within the black-and-white footage.

Sandwiched between the medical examiner and his brawny lieutenant, Kuchiki Byakuya glanced directly at the hidden camera before turning his attention to the corpse at his feet.

The man felt his eyes widen involuntarily at the image. He cursed himself silently – he might as well gasp and bunch his pale hair in distress – before he noted, with relief, that his colleague’s discerning brown eyes remained glued to the image on the iPad.

“I’m beginning to think that the rumors don’t do him justice,” the other fellow murmured as the figures on-screen assessed the crime scene. “He found your flowers immediately, if you’re curious.”

He took a silent breath, regaining his composure. “Ya sound as if y’are surprised.”

“Most pleasantly so,” his companion admitted, chin propped upon his hand as he leaned languidly against the armrest. “There will be advantages to the timetable being advanced, after all.”

“They’re still goin’ ahead with the raid?” He interjected in plausible disbelief, “even with –?”

“Of course. The public demands action for their fallen officers,” the brunette explained with a wry, almost-there smirk, “and Kyouraku will be forced to acquiesce…with the help of his federal friends.”

“I guess I’ll be makin’ some arrangements after this,” he sighed, pushing his drink away.

“That would be lovely. Any news on their condition?”

“Word has it yer prize specimens aren’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

His suave companion sipped his martini. “It is just as well; we won’t have time to play for a while.”

He was inclined to agree; their ‘toys’ were likely to break if handled carelessly, as he had witnessed all too often. There was just the matter of putting a few finishing, clandestine touches in place before the raid…

“Don’t get too carried away this time,” the other man’s voice invaded his thoughts like a hot coal tossed onto fresh snow. “Or I’ll start to suspect that you actually want them to defeat me.”

“If there weren’t a chance of failin,’ though, what fun would it be?”

“Fair enough.”

He stood to leave. Their eyes met, two convenient companions appraising each other under the guise of an amicable greeting.

“I’ll keep ya posted, Cap’n,” he quipped, turning away.

“I look forward to it,” came the sonorous reply.

An arm’s length separated them as the other’s voice washed over him again, smooth as satin with a core of pure steel.

“‘Suicide is Painless.’”

“Hmm?” He did not turn around; the weight of his colleague’s stare penetrated his form just the same.

“The name of the tune you’ve been whistling. It’s quite fitting, actually.”

“Well,” he tossed a quick smirk over his shoulder as his feet slithered back into motion, “s’good enough fer me.”

_Too bad it ain’t true_ , he decided, humming to himself. _Nothin’ worth havin,’ not even death, comes for free._

He didn’t look back until the elevator doors came between them, the silhouette of police headquarters framing the other’s figure like a gaping maw in the quickly falling night.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“All units in position.”

“Copy that,” Zaraki Kenpachi muttered, his own voice amplified compared to the others transmitted through his earpiece. “You ladies got your makeup done yet?”

“Shut up and get in there,” Hirako Shinji grumbled from his position on the opposite end of the warehouse.

Zaraki could hear the agent’s diminutive partner and her fervent opinions through the headset, and his lip curled up in good humor. It was nice to get a rise out of someone new, on occasion.

“Fine with me, cupcake,” he grinned, otherwise motionless.

Kenpachi was not prone to fidgeting. He napped during useless meetings and snored loudly when the windbags running them didn’t get the hint; on the job, however, his movements were quick, sure, decisive. He neither rechecked his body armor nor confirmed that the safety on his firearm was off – his muscles thrummed pleasantly with adrenaline that would be unleashed only when the moment was right.

Weeks of grueling training, restless tension and tight-lipped meetings would have their catharsis at his word, rendering the hurry-up-and-wait lifestyle of the Special Weapons and Tactics unit worthwhile.

“Let’s go.”

He absently registered the clipped, staticky phrases fed into his ear as he eased his muscular frame through a window, dropping onto booted feet in silence. Jiruga did the same several meters to his right as Ayasegawa and Madarame moved swiftly to the center of the stained cement floor, the loading dock doors standing open to the rear.

Kenpachi frowned and ran up the back stairs two steps at a time to get a better view of the storage area from the catwalk. It would be another minute or two before Shinji broke radio silence, but the end result was abundantly clear.

The warehouse – a supposedly bustling floral clearinghouse – was empty.

Sheets of plastic shifted and rippled in the breeze, the inrush of dry night air cutting through the thick, saccharine miasma that untold hordes of flowering plants had left behind. The S.W.A.T. commander noted the hushed open-and-close of the large, walk-in refrigerated units on the far side of the building while he cleared his section, observing the abandoned building through rusting steel slats, every inch of the space several decades past their prime. After nodding to the lanky Nnoitora, he turned on his heel to return to the lower level.

“North section, clear,” Ikkaku’s voice declared via his earpiece.

“East is clear,” Aikawa reported in a growling baritone.

Zaraki jogged past rows of abandoned pallets and a forklift parked hastily in their midst.

“West section, clear.” Yumichika’s unusually strained tenor mentioned a minute later.

_Damn._ Kenpachi slowed to a standstill before the coolers, acknowledging the frustration piped loud and clear through their communication system. _This 11 th hour bullshit is bad enough, but to come up empty…_

“South’s clear…but we’re gonna need the lab rats in here.”

“Whatcha got, Hirako?” Zaraki gruffed, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Who the hell knows?” Shinji muttered. “Just don’t have everyone come tramping in here, okay?”

“Don’t get yer panties in a bunch,” the S.W.A.T. captain fired right back, holding up a hand to halt the operatives that gathered at his back. “Where y’at?”

“The walk in…” the federal agent allowed, distracted. “Hiyori’s coming out.”

“I am not!” She shrieked, making all of the agents jump at the shrill, amplified racket.

“Out.” Shinji repeated darkly.

A moment of silence lapsed before a heavy, stainless-steel door opened and a petite blond woman stormed out. To everyone’s surprise, however, the female agent’s tirade did not follow. Hiyori kept her eyes on the floor and stalked off to sit on a stack of palettes facing the refrigerated unit.

Kenpachi wasted no time marching into the giant cooler, blinking as he crossed the threshold and dazzled at the sight.

White walls, white ceiling, white floor.

Hirako Shinji’s black Kevlar-lined outfit and goldenrod hair contrasted violently with the remainder of the room, though that was soon forgotten when he looked behind the federal agent.

Kenpachi blinked again, wondering if he was succumbing to whatever had felled the homicide detectives that very morning.

“-the hell?”

A low, narrow table stretched the length of the room. Fine, near-translucent china framed by gleaming silver utensils and crystal goblets shimmered upon a pure-white tablecloth, the inflorescence of a different species atop every plate.

_Thirteen place settings_ , the captain noticed absently, thoroughly annoyed with himself for devoting one iota of brain power to the thought. Twelve unpretentious, white zabuton were arranged evenly on one side, and a vivid, scarlet velour chaise lounge was placed directly opposite. Rather than a grand centerpiece, a small compact-disc player sat in the middle of the banquet, surrounded by sprigs of cherry blossoms.

Zaraki Kenpachi couldn’t give a damn about flowers, the significance –if any- of the multitudinous blooms covering the porcelain plates and cushions completely lost on him. He stepped closer to the chaise lounge, though, eyes drawn to hints of silk, steel and leather partially revealed as his movement dislodged a few of the hundreds of rose petals blanketing the chair.

“Don’t have to be psychic to know there’s some sick fuck behind this,” Kenpachi summarized.

Shinji nodded, mouth drawn into a thin line. “There are envelopes addressed to both of us.”

“Eh?”

Hirako pointed to one of the platinum-edged plates, his spindly finger indicating a letter hidden beneath stalks sporting tiny white flowers and feathery leaves.

“Whatever,” the S.W.A.T. leader chuffed, quietly circumnavigating and inspecting the table despite himself. “They usually sic Kuchiki on this kinda shit.”

“I know,” Shinji sighed, the tension bunching his shoulders easing slightly. “But I’m stuck with you.”

“Yeah,” the taller man grumbled as he paced back to the violently red piece of furniture. “I’ll keep an eye here while you call Urahara.”

“Why would I do that without a body?” The blond raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“You want someone to help with yer riddle or not? It’s up to you,” Kenpachi shrugged. “But you can be damned sure you’ll get a look inside that envelope faster if you just call the bastard and get it over with. Yer guys’ll take weeks and ship it halfway across the country first.”

“Maybe so, but our jurisdiction trumps yours any day,” the federal agent sighed again, fatigue wearing heavily over his features. “I’m not under any obligation to give you local guys a go at it first, though, or at all…even though I’m kinda tempted.”

“Tempted?”

“Don’t assume everyone’s a raging asshole like you, Zaraki,” Shinji shook his head, scratching idly at his ear. “Since the Met now seems to be Aizen’s favorite target, it’s only fair to work the investigation jointly.”

Kenpachi rolled his eyes and removed his helmet, shaking out his wild, dark hair.

“What? You’re not even curious?”

“Meh,” Zaraki shrugged again. “If it’ll give me and the boys something to do, great. If it’s gonna be more mind-fuckery and games, then the psycho can go fuck himself.”

“Mmh.” Shinji gave him a long look before turning to the door, activating his headset as he did so. “Lemme at least alert my team first, and then I’ll page the chief goofball. Don’t touch anything.”

“Kiss it, Hirako.”

The blond rolled his eyes as he strolled away, repositioning the mouthpiece. “Hey, Love. Send the forensics team in, give Kensei a call and get a move on to the place off East Second…”

Kenpachi suddenly regretted his decision to stand guard in the frigid, unsettling room as his adrenaline ebbed and the anticlimactic hours ahead loomed large. Glancing again at the resplendent –and menacing – display, his eyes fell to the plate setting in front of the chaise lounge, and the two envelopes nestled beneath petals of red, white, and nearly-black dark purple petals.

Zaraki read the names written there in flawless calligraphy and his golden eyes went wide.

A tiny red light flashed within the overhead ventilation duct, the inconspicuous camera observing the scene and the men below with an ever-present and attentive eye.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

There were three distinct beeps, of that he was certain.

One originated on his right, a few feet above his head. _Probably an IV_ , he ventured on the basis of the occasional pinching pain in the dorsum of his hand and the crook of his elbow.

Another persistent, digital chirp twittered up from the end of the bed.  He was unable to decide if it corresponded to the devices intermittently squeezing his legs, or to the periodic cycle of inflation and deflation of the air mattress.

The third beep was the most persistent – and irregular – of the trio. If Byakuya had to guess, it was a digital watch buried deep beneath a pile of linens in an effort to silence an alarm that went off every thirty-three minutes.

_Does no one have the decency to set it to an even number?_

Annoyed though he was at the improbable frequency, many other noises vied for his attention in the early morning hours: the laugh tracks on a nearly-muted TV sitcom, the sometimes-hushed voices of the nurses and aides at the nearby work station, the gentle snoring emanating from not very far away.

It was the last of those that prompted him to open his eyes; his lids resisted, sticking together and watering as if grit had been sprinkled within. His mouth fared little better, his own saliva caustic and stinging as he tried to wet his lips with a thick, awkward tongue.

A blurry world of gray tones greeted him as he blinked. Suddenly the blue blood became aware of a thin sheen of adherent sweat that bound him to rough sheets and a faded, crumped hospital gown; trying to shift his hips, he took note of his urinary catheter with something less than amusement.

Byakuya closed his eyes again, allowing the foreign, waking sensations to wash over him and slowly overtake the jumbled fragments of his memory. He turned his head toward the window-lined wall, gaze settling on a large machine replete with dials, tubes and displays that sat softly whirring in the darkened room. He blinked and tried to follow the length of tubing from the equipment to a large catheter that disappeared under his robe and tunneled into his chest.  Two adhesive pads were affixed to his torso, one just to the right of his sternum, the other tucked practically under his arm, both with wires trailing off over his shoulder and somewhere behind his head. He glanced next at the windowsill that separated his room from the hallway, noting the odd array of pointed ears and shiny, spherical objects. Attempting to lean forward, Byakuya winced as a lancinating pain stabbed between his ribs and around his breastbone at the movement; he persisted, though, wondering at the multitude of silhouetted, furry figures on the ledge.

_Am I still seeing things?_

The inspector blinked again and the creatures came into focus.

_Stuffed animals…large rabbits, to be precise._

_Rukia._

Byakuya exhaled softly in amusement as he studied the many plush animals and the gaudy Mylar balloons surrounding them along the windowsill. Distinctly relieved at the absence of floral arrangements, he did note a few ‘bouquets’ of fruit and cookies that had been opened and partially devoured.

_It is just as well that someone with an appetite enjoyed them,_ he allowed generously, though his train of thought derailed as he attempted to swallow against the sensation of crushed glass lodged in his windpipe.

The implication of his many, minute discomforts and the varied equipment crowding the room hit his weary mind in an instant.

_Just how ill have I been? Whatever became –_

Something in the far corner of the room stirred, emitting a grunting sigh before falling back into a regular, snoring rhythm.

_Someone else is in here_ , he remembered with a frown, horrified by his pathetic excuse for an attention span.

Gradually coaxing his stiff neck into allowing his head to turn, Byakuya squinted in the general direction of the sleeping presence in his midst. His irritated eyes would not cooperate, however, and he sighed in self-disgust as he shifted his attention to a closer target – the large hand draped over his forearm.

The Kuchiki heir let his eyelids drift shut again as much-needed tears threatened to flood his vision. Relieved that no soul would see him like this – filthy, ill, and exhausted – he offered a wordless prayer of gratitude and lifted his trembling arm to his lips, bestowing a kiss on his beloved’s hand. The redhead shifted in the recliner by the hospital bed and sighed contentedly.

“Renji,” the noble whispered, his chapped lips begrudgingly permitting a smile.

Byakuya ignored all sound but the snoring, all sensation but the secure, comforting weight on his arm as he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “About damn time,” Rukia muttered under her breath as her fingers danced across the screen. She straightened as the call went through. “Yes, madam Vice-Chairwoman, I have confirmation.”
> 
> Beta'd by leila-blue and ichibanseiken.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Six_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Wakey wakey, Sunshine.”

Byakuya resolved to remain completely still despite Kenpachi’s unnerving, half-growled exhortation.

“Easy, big fella; we’re trying to wake him up, not scare him half to death,” Urahara offered, solicitous. He paused. “Though it was kinda fun to see Ichigo practically fly out of bed like that.”

The image thereof made the Kuchiki’s lips twitch mutinously. _If only I could record such a greeting for Renji…he might never sleep through his alarm again._

“The hell’s that? Is he having another seizure?”

“Either that, or he almost smiled,” the medical examiner muttered, observing him. “Not sure which is scarier.”

“Spill it, Kuchiki,” Zaraki grumbled, nudging the bed as he leaned against the rail. “What’s so fucking funny?”

Byakuya struggled to coax sound from his swollen vocal cords. “I was…simply wondering… whom I offended.”

“Eh?”

The bedridden man blinked, two sets of bemused eyes staring back at him as the world came into focus.

“Few hospitalized patients are greeted by a forensic pathologist,” Byakuya continued, rasping and resisting the urge to swallow. “It is still a bit early for the autopsy.”

Urahara chuckled, scratching at his stubbly chin as Kenpachi cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Coulda fooled me,” the S.W.A.T. commander loomed over him, imposing figure blotting out the fluorescent lights overhead. “You look like shit.”

“Why, thank you,” Byakuya blinked again, eyes nearly as dry as his mouth. “I am moved by the concern of the M.E.’s office, the S.W.A.T. team, and –”

The homicide detective felt his brow furrow reflexively as he noticed the other person in the room.

_The demon cat._

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Byakuya refrained from speech as the shapely woman winked at him.

“Cat got your tongue, Bya-bo?” Yoruichi’s grin stretched to her ears, bits of skin peeking out of her tight orange dress in interesting places. Legs crossed and chin propped on her palm, her foot continued to trace lazy circles in the air, her posture majestic despite the modest accommodations of a scuffed, metal folding chair.

“It’s probably just as well; those vocal cords won’t be up for much for a while,” Kisuke offered with a not-quite-apologetic look. “Ice chips?”

He nodded, further acerbic quips suppressed for the sake of his raw throat. Byakuya untangled his arm from the morass of sheets, blankets and wires; he accepted the paper cup with a tremulous hand and the recollection of Renji’s touch when he first came to.

“Loverboy’s got his work cut out for him,” Yoruichi decided, cutting into his thoughts and nearly making him aspirate on an ice cube. “You’re in serious need of fattening up.”

“You weren’t looking all that sturdy before, come to think of it,” Urahara concurred with his wife’s assessment.

“What they mean is that your crash diet worked, Princess,” Kenpachi piped up with a demonic grin. “You oughta fit into that wedding dress now.”

For a long, idle moment, the noble sipped cool water and tuned the grating voices out, the thought of forcibly silencing his visitors flitting across his mind. _I wonder if temporary insanity would provide a plausible excuse?_

“Earth to Bya-kun,” Urahara broke into his reverie, wearing a concerned expression. “You still with us, kiddo?”

“I am afraid so,” Byakuya managed in something closer to his normal tone of voice. He swallowed with caution before speaking again. “How long – ”

“Over a week,” Kisuke cut in, meeting his gaze squarely. “You spent Christmas in a coma.”

“And still couldn’t manage to grow a decent beard,” Zaraki pointed out, ever helpful.

“Ah.” The blue blood’s quick survey of his surroundings supported Urahara’s statement; there were no holiday decorations within the room or the adjoining hallway, and the date scrawled upon the far wall’s dry erase board betrayed the imminent approach of the New Year.

“Kurosaki Ichigo remains hospitalized,” Byakuya ventured aloud, piecing various clues together, “though Abarai was already released?”

“Abarai-kun is fine,” Urahara plucked the empty cup from his grasp, dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed. “He got checked out after you collapsed, but physically, he’s all right.”

The blond’s choice of words stirred something sharp and unpleasant in his chest.

“Speaking of that, maybe you could go fetch the kids?” The medical examiner looked to Yoruichi, who nodded her assent as she stood.

“I’d be happy to,” she murmured as she stretched, arching her back. “Prince Charming will be thrilled that his Sleeping Beauty finally woke up…and probably a little less than thrilled that he wasn’t here for it.”

“I’ll take the fall for that,” Kisuke shrugged as he met his wife’s eyes. “A shave and a shower did Abarai-kun a world of good; he, Uryuu and Ichigo are probably in some kind of shouting match passing for conversation as we speak.”

“I see.” Byakuya inhaled slowly, schooling his features into impassivity. He mastered the tightness in his throat, wondering both at the unbidden feelings that welled up at the thought of his subordinate, and the motivations of the two that flanked his bed. Watching with heavy-lidded eyes as the demon cat passed through the doorway, he indulged his curiosity. “What, precisely, befell Kurosaki Ichigo?”

“Heh,” Kenpachi chortled, rolling his eyes. “Punk started thrashing some invisible thugs and broke himself in the process.”

The Kuchiki heir blinked at the statement that provoked more questions and explained nothing.

“Ichigo won’t give up the details, but he must’ve had some pretty vivid hallucinations,” Kisuke supplied with a fond grin. “The very day you crumped some uniforms found him going berserk on the steel guard rails along the overpass by the court house, and it was only after he exhausted himself that they could subdue him long enough to bring him in. The fact that Channel Seven caught the whole thing on video just adds insult to injury.”

“Meh, what a wuss. Barely got bruised up at all,” Kenpachi mused with a wistful sigh, an odd aura of amusement and bloodlust hovering over him.

“Barely bruised? The poor kid wound up in traction!” Urahara fired back, eyebrow nearly twitching as he turned his attention to the homicide inspector. “He’ll perk up a bit now that you’re awake, though. He’s been asking about you.”

“Why would that boy be asking about me?” Byakuya wondered aloud, frowning.

“Because he thought you were gonna die, jackass,” Zaraki snorted, as if it were obvious.

“Just like the rest of us did,” Kisuke clarified, fixing the S.W.A.T. captain with a meaningful look. “Ichigo was poisoned, too…but he didn’t have the decency to collapse in a room full of cops.”

Byakuya closed his eyes, mortified at the memory of his frailty in a public venue. The gears of his mind began to turn in that moment of repose, however, touching upon fragments of memory and the few clues given him upon waking.

“How many different poisons have been identified?” The Kuchiki heir asked at last, heavy lids lifting again.

Urahara Kisuke and Zaraki Kenpachi glanced at each other across his bed with unreadable expressions.

“Of the five individuals thought to be poisoned, a number of distinct effects have been noted,” Byakuya continued in a hoarse near-whisper. “Even taking dosing and underlying health into account, it seems unlikely that one drug could affect myself, Kurosaki and Abarai so differently…assuming that my lieutenant had no more than an upset stomach, and that Kurosaki was not critically ill.”

“Right,” Urahara affirmed after a long moment.

It did not escape the homicide chief’s notice that his original question remained unanswered.

_Are they testing me? Or perhaps…_

Zaraki looked past Urahara for the hundredth time, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the ward and every soul that passed by. The medical examiner, for his part, kept his gaze fixed on the bedridden aristocrat, as if he were a test tube about to boil over.

Byakuya turned his attention to the back of his hands, taking a moment to study the splotchy blues and purples that camouflaged the tendons and formerly pristine skin. There were too many venipuncture sites to count, and he had yet to inspect his wrists and forearms.

_I’ll not waste a minute more in idleness. If they wish to interrogate me in such condition, I shall oblige, if only to be done with it._

“The marketplace murders involved Kyouka-suigetsu, though the poor coordination the victims displayed is atypical for that drug,” Byakuya proposed as he folded his hands underneath the blankets, “which leads me to believe that a second substance was involved, likely administered via the coffee from the nearby café. It was this other drug that Kurosaki, Abarai and I must have unwittingly imbibed at the crime scene.”

“Hmm. We did find traces of Kyouka-suigetsu on both Representative Aramaki and Takahiro-san,” Kisuke allowed, fingers drumming on the beige plastic of the bed rail.

“The bouquets?” The noble asked, holding the image of indigo and tangerine blooms in his mind’s eye.

Urahara nodded. Kenpachi strolled towards the door, heaving a bored sigh as he leaned against the jamb; a trio of nursing aides passed by the room, their pace quickening as they glimpsed the hulking man with a sinister smile in the doorway.

“Komamura –keibu and company did some canvassing, found a barista at the coffeehouse with an unrequited crush on the dearly-departed reporter, one Itsu Asano. Itsu-san decided that the way to a guy’s heart is through his stomach, and spiked all the drinks at Takahiro-san’s favorite java spot to prove his love. We haven’t tracked down the source of the poison yet, and whether Itsu-san was the only perp…or just a fall guy isn’t clear yet either. He did a heck of a job, though; according to health department surveillance, fifteen other folks ended up in the ER or a clinic by the day’s end.” Kisuke wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “Five points if you can guess what the poison was.”

Byakuya pressed his chapped lips together into a fine line, swallowing his annoyance with the M.E. and contemplating the lancinating pain along his lower ribs that came with each breath instead.

“Morning glory.” The deep blue blooms with bright, stellate cores filled his vision momentarily, having unsettled him from the moment he first laid eyes on them. _I hadn’t known what to make of them at the time, though the meaning of the marigolds was quite clear…_

“You sure you’re up to this?” Urahara’s voice stopped his line of thought dead; the blond leaned over him, scrutinizing each bead of cold sweat on his forehead as if it contained a vital clue. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”  

“It is fine,” Byakuya responded quickly, more uncomfortable with the scrutiny of his health than the line of questioning that preceded it.

“Whatever you say,” Kisuke’s brow furrowed. “With everything that’s happened, though, it’s a little disconcerting when you space out like that.”

“I do not ‘space out,’ as you put it,” Byakuya countered, barely resisting the urge to comment further or allow his frayed nerves free reign. _Nor do I wish to know precisely what ‘everything that’s happened’ refers to._  “I am to assume, then, that I was correct?”

“Yeah, actually,” Urahara admitted while removing a speck of lint from the lapel of his sport jacket. “Seeds of _Ipomea violacea_ , or morning glory, make for a high much like that of LSD. Small doses will just upset your stomach, but it can be quite hallucinogenic in large enough quantities. Interestingly enough, combining it with Kyouka-suigetsu may cause profound impairment,* particularly in coordination and judgment.”    

“Even so,” Kisuke went on, “that wouldn’t explain why the three of you, after drinking comparable amounts of the doped brew, had such variable symptoms.”

“I am not sure that the drinks we imbibed were truly comparable,” Byakuya countered, thin brows cinching together as he recalled their intake. _I had two refills of macchiato before leaving the scene; Abarai had two lattes, and perhaps two cups of drip coffee with cream and sugar afterwards; Kurosaki consumed some vile, sugar-laden concoction before ordering genmai-cha…_

“Maybe not,” a pensive Urahara murmured as he rested his elbows on the bedrail. “The Borgia barista claimed to have contaminated every batch brewed that morning, as well as the milk and cream, and we’ve confirmed at least traces of the flower seeds in each sample taken. That said…how much tea do you drink?”

“Tea?” Byakuya echoed, straightening reflexively at the unexpected question. He frowned as he attempted to estimate his average intake, and failed. “Three cups a day would have been accurate a month ago; more recently, though…perhaps twice that amount.”

Kenpachi tutted, shifting against the door frame while Kisuke’s expression remained unreadable.

_Why do I bother?_ The blue blood wondered crossly, a spark of temper threatening to ignite and compromise his civil veneer. _As the entire police force has inserted itself into my love life, why should I expect my insomnia to be beyond public purview?_

“How do you feel if you go without?”

Byakuya stared, a device chiming over his head at an increasing tempo as his pulse quickened.

“I see now why you confine yourself to the dead, Urahara Kisuke,” came a cool, humorless voice from the doorway. A silver-haired, bespectacled man gave Zaraki the once-over, unimpressed as the stepped over the threshold.

“You’re a fine example of why warm fuzzies aren’t requisite to work with the living, Ishida Ryuuken,” Kisuke beamed, taking no less joy in insulting the father than in annoying the son. “I was just getting to the good part with our young debutante here.”

“That explains why his vital signs are so disordered,” the physician frowned, glancing at his patient and the alarming monitor above the bed. Ryuuken pulled a sleek, black stethoscope from the pocket of his white coat as he nudged Urahara aside.

Byakuya sat quietly while being examined, envious of Zaraki who exited the room and closed the door behind him. The S.W.A.T. captain went no further, however; after conferring with the uniformed officer across the hall, he settled into his new post and filled the doorway with his imposing frame.

_I have to wonder,_ Byakuya mused as he watched the other chief through his lashes, _whom, exactly, are they guarding, and why?_

“You’ve not witnessed any further episodes?” The taciturn Ishida inquired while checking Byakuya’s pulse.

“Nothing obvious,” Kisuke replied, moving to the other side of the bed, “though it’s a little hard to say whether he’s tuning us out or having absence seizures.”

“I would not expect petit mal activity under the circumstances, unless he has underlying epilepsy.” Ryuuken finally met his patient’s eyes as he made his pronouncement.

“I do not.” Byakuya cleared his throat, holding his physician’s gaze. “My apologies; I was merely lost in thought.”

“Mmh,” was Ishida-sensei’s reply. “Any respiratory difficulties or lung disease?”

“No.”

“Do you take any medication, or have any chronic medical conditions?” Ryuuken flipped through a thick folder he’d deposited on the bed earlier.

Byakuya shook his head; the physicians glanced at each other.

“It appears you were right,” the elder Ishida admitted, scribbling in the chart as Urahara indulged in a smug smile.

_Breathe in,_ the Kuchiki heir released his death grip on the fitted sheet beneath the covers.

_Breathe out_ , Byakuya commanded himself as the final tether on his temper snapped.

_Breathe in, and choose your words wisely…_

“If either one of you would be kind enough to enlighten me as to what was added to my tea?”

“Oops. Sorry about that,” Kisuke’s grin remained undaunted while he looked over Ryuuken’s shoulder. “You ever hear of TK-509?”

The sharp rebuttal on Byakuya’s tongue was not to be. Pure shock flitted over his face for a split second; he suppressed it, but only a moment too late.

“I guess that’s a yes,” surmised Urahara, every hint of frivolity gone in an instant. “Someone you know taking it?”

“Someone I _knew_ ,” the noble clarified when he could speak again. “A chain-smoking uncle of mine was diagnosed with emphysema and took the drug.”

_Uncle Kouga might have died of his lung disease, had he not turned the gun on himself after shooting Ojii-sama._

“That was a few years back, I bet,” Kisuke’s eyes fixed the aristocrat in place as he spoke.

“Yes.”

Byakuya did not clarify further, but something in Urahara’s expression indicated that additional explanation was not necessary.

“My grandpa was on the stuff, too,” Kisuke mentioned as Ryuuken scribbled in the chart. “A crotchety old fella that smoked since grade school, he was; they put him on it about six months before he died. If it weren’t for him, I’d never have taken an interest in the stuff.”

Urahara’s eyes had warmed for a moment, though his smile faded to an unfamiliar expression that Byakuya interpreted as contrite.

“Ojii-san and I played chess all the time, and by graduate school I was becoming the better player,” Kisuke went on, attention drifting to the ripple of blankets upon the bed. “All of a sudden, though, he started wiping the floor with me, and it took a week before I wrangled the secret out of him; whereas once he merely guessed at my next moves, he now _knew_ what I would do next.”

Byakuya didn’t move a muscle, but the increasingly frequent beeps of the heart rate monitor behind him betrayed his surprise.

“Grandpa’d been started on TK-509 the month before, the only change to the buckets of pills they fed him at the convalescent home. At first I didn’t believe it, but…” Kisuke scratched his chin absently, “well, getting my clock cleaned like that got my attention. He cleaned up in poker, too, scrounging the mad money of other geezers to the point where they stopped letting him play.”

“I decided to look into it, scouring the available articles on the drug, but there was nothing even remotely mentioning the topic of extra-sensory perception. So…I decided to make it the topic of my thesis research.” Urahara’s lanky fingers slid along the grooves of the bed rail. “I tinkered with a bit, concentrating the active ingredient and getting an industry sponsor, then I managed to land fifty college students willing to take the drug in a phase I study.”

The medical examiner paused, digits stilling as his thoughts whirred.

“Most of the students reported improving grades, better concentration and a bit of euphoria thrown in for good measure; a number reported an enhanced sense of connection with others, much like you hear about with Ecstasy users nowadays,” Urahara explained to the bedridden detective. “Anyway, of the original group, two began to manifest some trippy stuff on the extra-potent TK-509; one girl could get ‘readings’ off of inanimate objects, and could tell you who handled it, what kind of mood they were in at the time, et cetera. The other subject, a teaching assistant in the psychiatry department, noticed a profound enhancement of his empathy; not only could he identify with his clients, he could literally feel their emotions, too. The subset of people who could benefit in that fashion from the medication was small, but even so…the potential of TK-509 was immense.”

“Unfortunately,” Ishida-sensei murmured as he finished his documentation, closing the chart with a snap, “no drug is without side effects. The more potent the therapy, the more toxic the consequences may be.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Urahara admitted as a shadow passed over his countenance. “I knew from the get-go that TK-509 wasn’t for everyone. It’s a stimulant, therefore not necessarily safe for folks with heart problems, and it has the potential to become addictive like any other ‘upper.’ The other major problem with the drug is that it interacts with a lot of other meds because of how it’s metabolized in the liver. A simple course of antibiotics – or morning glory seeds, for that matter - can boost blood levels of TK-509 from normal to toxic, with life-threatening effects.”

The wall clock’s ticking seemed to grow louder as the lull in the conversation lengthened.

“Grandpa started getting anxious a few months into my project,” Kisuke enunciated carefully. “He was really jumpy, startling at the slightest movement, and his hands began to shake terribly when he reached for chess pieces. I didn’t find out about his insomnia or the nightmares until the Veterans’ shrink diagnosed him with PTSD.”

The blond grew still again, a faint furrow in his brow forming as he found his words.

“Unfortunately for him, the doc was wrong. Ojii-san hadn’t told me or the shrink about the stomach acid medicine he started taking, as he didn’t think it was important.” Urahara ran a hand over his face to hide the pain in his gaze. “I know now that the antacid made grandpa’s TK-509 levels go sky high, and that was why he ended up in the hospital two weeks later with intractable seizures. They sedated him to the point of coma, then dialyzed him several times to get rid of the drug… but it wasn’t enough; he arrested twice, and in the end they couldn’t revive him.”

Byakuya’s eyes closed of their own accord. He catalogued the devices that filled his room when he woke, the innumerable procedures and therapies inflicted upon him by his caretakers, and the ache in his throat where the endotracheal tube had been. The inspector felt more than a twinge of guilt in surviving what had cost Urahara’s Ojii-san his life; none of the words in his impressive arsenal formed an adequate apology, though, so he remained silent.

“When some of the coeds started to get twitchy, I called the study off.” Kisuke glanced towards the white coat-clad physician at his side, then the gaunt detective ensconced in bed. “I wrote it up for the sake of intellectual honesty, I guess, but I didn’t push for publication. I didn’t want to give anyone the bright idea of poisoning people for the sake of a few parlor tricks.”

Urahara turned slightly, looking Byakuya in the eye. “I figured Aizen was up to something long before he broke from the force, and it didn’t surprise me that he’d barely blink an eye at the thought of damaging some for the chance of enhancing others. It did surprise me, though, that he’d use the whole Met as guinea pigs…and that he’d try to boost those who already possessed special abilities even further.”

Ryuuken looked at his Rolex, then at the clock on the wall. Kisuke blinked at him a few times before rolling his eyes and turning back to the patient.

“We found my old, juiced-up formulation of TK-509 pretty much everywhere at headquarters: in the water, in each canister of coffee and tea. There were higher concentrations in the hot pepper paste and wasabi in the break room fridge, the coconut water that Ichigo had in his car,” Urahara rattled off, “and in the spendy teas in your office. It should go without saying, too, that just about every edible or ingestible at Kuchiki manor was chock full of the stuff, as was Ichigo’s place. Except for a few tins of green tea and some pickles, Rukia-chan’s apartment and Abarai-kun’s flat seem to have been spared.”

_So the primary targets of Aizen’s experiments were myself and Kurosaki Ichigo?_

“We haven’t figured out exactly how all of those items were tampered with,” Kisuke shrugged and inspected his shoes, “or if they all have a common source. Ichigo’s blood levels of TK-509 were less than half of yours, though, and I think that’s why he didn’t get nearly as sick.”

“I think you’ve expounded enough,” Ishida-sensei opined as he placed a firm hand on Urahara’s shoulder. “Kuchiki-keibu has only just revived, and I’ll not have you wear down the man I worked so hard to save, if you please.”

“Fair enough,” Urahara chuckled, his easygoing demeanor back in place. “Just one more thing; TK-509 wasn’t a very wieldy name for the drug that would usher in the future, so I patented the high-potency formulation under a different moniker.”

The blond brushed his bangs back from his forehead as he stepped away. “Now that I think of it, though, ‘Hougyoku’ isn’t very catchy either.”

Byakuya blinked at him, surprised that anything could shock him at that point.

_Hougyoku?_

Letting the revelation trickle down into his sparse and sketchy memories of that time, Byakuya tried to reconcile the old information with the new. _The division chiefs were told little, beyond that its very existence was classified; we had assumed it to be a weapon, or perhaps software of some sort. That it is simply a chemical…_

_No. There is nothing simple about it, or any tool that Aizen Sosuke turns his attention to - the lengths he went to for this Hougyoku, plowing through my family as though we were nothing, speaks to that._

Byakuya contemplated Kisuke’s profile as the blond paused by the exit, the swirling queries and scenarios in his head quieted by force of will alone. _This is neither the time nor the place for such an exposition._

“Don’t go getting sick again, Bya-bo,” Urahara winked at him. “I’m going to need your psychic detective skills to help me reconstruct a crime scene.”

The Kuchiki winced at the thought, a headache blooming at the back of his skull. “Whatever for?”

“Because a bunch of National Security goons crashed the party at a floral clearinghouse raid, and they aren’t much for sharing. Rest up,” Urahara commanded as he knocked on the door, prompting Kenpachi to step aside and allow him to exit the room.

Ishida Ryuuken quirked an eyebrow as an alarm chimed, the digital ostinato harmonizing with the rapid cadence of Byakuya’s heartbeat on the monitor. Refusing to allow the affront by his vital signs, the detective took a number of slow, calming breaths that brought his nerves and pulse back to a normal range. He met his physician’s appraising gaze squarely, and the bespectacled Ryuuken appeared placated for the moment.

A gaggle of voices drew near the door; Byakuya’s eyes flitted over to his newly arrived guests, a blaze of crimson, black and tan drawing his attention immediately. The mighty Zaraki Kenpachi stepped aside to allow the newcomers entry, prompting a disapproving snort from the elder Ishida-sensei, but Byakuya heard none of it.

All other sound was drowned out by the blood thundering in his ears.

 

* _I. violacea_ is, in fact, a congener for LSD; the hallucinogenic and gastrointestinal effects listed here are based in fact. The synergistic effects with Kyouka-suigetsu, of course, are not.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_It just figures I’d leave my brain in the bathroom._

Renji’s gut reminded him with a long growl that he nearly left more than his train of thought behind.

Rukia was poised and composed as she conversed with her brother, Renji noted with no little admiration; she had taken his larger hand without hesitation, holding and warming it as they spoke. Uryuu, for his part, seemed unusually relaxed and convivial at his perch by the Kuchiki’s bedside, slouching a bit to lean against the footboard.

_Guess it’s a doctor thing. How anyone could be at ease with all these needles and bloodsuckers around is completely beyond me._ Renji shuddered, making a deliberate effort not to look at the tubes coursing out of Byakuya’s chest and arms. _The old adage on the streets still rings true: never trust a place where a fair percentage of folks don’t come out alive._

Those thoughts would not be voiced, though; Renji had promised himself that he’d sooner stay quiet than betray just how scared he’d been.

_I’m tired of being the weakest link_ , he decided while watching the others interact without effort or awkwardness. The deeply engraved lines on Kuchiki-keibu’s face worried him, though, as did the pearly, translucent skin draped thinly over the man’s exposed clavicles and forearms. _I have a hard time believing that you’re really through the worst of it, regardless of what the doctors say._

The conversation slipping past him like leaves on the wind, Renji became distracted by a large, iridescent vein on the back of Byakuya’s hand; if he stared at the ropy cyan vessel long enough, he could almost make out the blood flowing within…

“Rukia, Ishida-sensei, would you give us a moment?”

Renji thought he might fall over, the gravelly baritone shocking him out of his reverie.

Rukia shot both detectives a surprised, starry-eyed look before bowing toward the bed. “Why of course, brother. Take as long as you need.”

She floated out of the room, making no effort to hide her smile; Uryuu had the nerve to smirk as he pushed up his glasses and made for the door.

The door clicked shut.

Renji finally looked his captain in the eye; having the placid grey orbs trained upon him did not boost his eloquence, he discovered with no great surprise, but with much chagrin.

_Well, shit. Ten days to figure out what to say, and I still manage to blow it._

Byakuya’s eyelids drooped downward and he took to watching his befuddled lieutenant through his lashes. Renji commanded his mouth to work but his guts responded first, veering sharply towards his spine as if the noble had punched him in the gut with a simple glance.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake, anything will do at this point…_

“Sir?” Renji managed weakly as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. The surge of adrenaline made his still-swollen cheekbone throb, and he clenched his fists tightly enough to strain the newly formed scabs along his knuckles.

One aristocratic brow rose and arched in question; Byakuya looked him over before eventually deigning to speak.

“Won’t you sit down, Renji?”

Said redhead did not immediately comply. His jaw dropped, allowing him to gape at his commanding officer for a few moments.

Byakuya’s eyebrow twitched as far north as possible; the inspector tilted his head slightly, curious, while waiting for Renji to move or show some sign of life.

“Oh…sure,” Renji plopped into the thinly upholstered chair that had served as his bed for the last week or so. His hands made quick, automatic work of the bedrail that stood between them, maneuvering the lever and rotating the textured plastic barricade down and out of sight. The tattooed man leaned forward, reaching for Byakuya’s left hand and stopping himself a centimeter short of his goal.

Renji winced and flushed, realizing he’d betrayed himself. He looked up to his beloved, unsure of the reaction that his foolish, recently-formed habit would elicit from the newly awake and alert inspector. Byakuya stared at him for a moment before reaching out and claiming his forearm with a sure grip.

“I must thank you,” the Kuchiki pronounced, the barest hint of color suffusing his face, “for staying with me.”

“I…” Renji struggled against the strangling tightness in his throat for a moment before his voice failed him.

Unable to express himself in any other fashion, Renji slid out of the chair and onto his knees, planting his face in scratchy blankets as emotion welled up and out of his stinging eyes.

Byakuya made no move to extract the hand wedged between Renji’s head and forearm. After what felt like a small eternity of stillness and silence, Renji felt something tug at the elastic band restraining his mane. A warm cascade of damp crimson silk slid down around his face, and cool fingers began to gently card through his hair. A guttural sound somewhere between a groan and a sob was ripped out of him, his shoulders heaving as a dexterous hand traced circles along his scalp.

_I’m sorry…_

Renji’s lids felt swollen and irritated by the time the hot tears stopped flowing, face creased by the textured weave of the cloth beneath him and bruised cheek throbbing painfully. Forcing himself to breathe, to calm, he focused on the fingertips stroking away the tension along the crown of his head.

_I feel so fucking worthless right now…_

Byakuya accepted the catharsis for what it was, his subtle tugs and quiet exhales soothing the man crumpled at his bedside without a word. At long last, Renji relaxed and sighed into the bedclothes as Byakuya withdrew his hands.

“That’s enough now, Renji,” the elder decided in a low rumble. “This is not your doing.”

The redhead allowed himself a final, heavy sigh into the blanket; it tickled his nose and he straightened suddenly, sniffling. He knew he looked a mess, but Byakuya directed nothing more than a heavy-lidded glance his way before shifting to the far side of the bed.

Renji blinked.

Byakuya’s expression was forcibly blank as he hauled himself over further, jaw clenching with a sharp exhale as his injured body resisted the movement, before looking between the vacated space and Renji expectantly.

“You want me to…?” Renji eyed the mattress with disbelief. _I definitely left my brain in the bathroom._

“If it’s not too much trouble,” was Byakuya’s wry response as he repositioned the sheets over his pale blue hospital gown.

“Erm,” Renji blinked again at the maze of wires and tubes stretching over the empty half of the bed, “I’m not gonna hurt you by squishing these, am I?”

“Best do it quickly, then,” the Kuchiki heir murmured, a corner of his lip twitching.

“Right-o, boss,” Renji settled his larger frame into the bed with care, mindful of his jacket sleeves and the threatening array of machinery above the headboard. He eased an arm around Byakuya’s shoulders and pulled him flush with his chest. “You okay like this?”

“Yes,” Byakuya hummed, pressing his nose against Renji’s muscular neck. “I am not so very fragile.”

“Maybe not, but…” the younger man trailed off and elected to kiss Byakuya’s hair instead. “How do you always smell so good?”

“You’re changing the subject,” the Kuchiki heir objected as he did the same.

Renji sighed, disturbing the obsidian strands surrounding his mouth slightly. “I was there when they coded you the, um, second time. It’s hard to forget the sound of ribs crunching and cracking like that, ya know?”

“I will take your word for it,” Byakuya exhaled and bestowed a kiss along a tattooed clavicle. “I am sorry for what you have suffered.”

“Um, Byakuya,” Renji piped up with obvious discomfort, the name fighting its way out of his mouth, “I puked some and camped out here for a little bit. I’m not sure what you’re so sorry about.”

“I may be speaking out of turn, but…I know what it is to watch someone fade, Renji, and to expect to lose them.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the younger cursed under his breath. “I’m...you’re right, but it isn’t your fault either.” Renji ran his hand along the bony protuberances of his captain’s spine, wincing. “It was fuckin’ awful, but it’s over. I’m fine…just…I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” Byakuya nestled further beneath the clean-shaven chin, his breath tickling the redhead’s throat. “And those you quarreled with?”

“Oh, that,” Renji brought his bruised knuckles up for inspection. “Nothin’ I didn’t earn by mouthin’ off and wallowin’ in my own shit.” _Hisagi and Kira understand, drink hard and don’t hold grudges – and they don’t hit a guy unless he deserves it._

“I see.”

Eager to move on to a different topic, Renji remembered to not tighten his grip as he blew a strand of hair out of his face. “I gotta say, you surprised me with the PDA.”

Byakuya said nothing.

“Public display of affection,” Renji explained after a while.

“Ah.” Another pause. “It was rather impulsive of me. You do not mind?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not,” Renji snorted as an arm slipped around his waist. “Anything to keep me from blubberin’ again. Now, if I could just think of a way to get you to glomp me…”

The redhead was almost certain he could hear Byakuya think.

“Glomp is like a combination of pounce and bear hug,” Renji tried to keep the laughter out of his voice, and failed. “Don’t feel the need to change for me; speaking like a medieval overlord is charmin’ and sexy as fuck, if you ask me.”

“That is fortunate,” Byakuya exhaled in an almost chuckle, “as I am feeling rather like a fossil today.”

“Meh,” the redhead patted his back lightly, “it’s nothing some takeout can’t fix. Lucky for me that your vassals aren’t around to make me bow my way out of the room.”

“Mmh.”

“Speaking of that,” Renji picked up the thread of Byakuya’s unspoken thought, “the rest of your thousands of relatives have been cleared to visit, if you’re up for it.”

“Ah.” Byakuya tucked his cold fingers between Renji’s back and the lining of his jacket. “Cleared?”

“Uh, yeah, Captain. We didn’t want the person poisoning you to be able to slip in and finish the job. Of course, now that – ”

“And what of Kurosaki Ichigo?” Byakuya interrupted, having heard enough of Aizen’s schemes that day.

“Oh, the berry?” Renji ‘s brow furrowed. “He’s got some hardware holdin’ his leg together now, and he’ll be in for some rehab, but…about what you’d expect, I guess: embarrassed, sore, broodin’ over the fact that Aizen’s still fuckin’ with him.”

“I see.”

“And you?” Renji leaned back, allowing the older man to look at him.

“About what you would expect,” Byakuya echoed and returned his head to the other’s shoulder.

“Hmm.” _It may not be a cheery, optimistic answer…but it’s an honest one._ Renji pulled the sheets and blankets up over the Kuchiki’s back. “You fallin’ asleep?”

“Perhaps,” Byakuya admitted as his breathing evened out.

Out in the hallway, Zaraki Kenpachi glanced over his shoulder and through the glass pane in the door. Rukia did her best to wait patiently, most definitely _not fidgeting_ as Kenpachi nodded to Uryuu, who squinted as he peaked through the blinds covering the window between the room and the ward hallway.

“Well?” Rukia tried for a calm, even tone.

“Without a doubt,” Uryuu decided, looking through the window well above the girl’s head.

Zaraki made an affirmative grunt as the younger Kuchiki reached for her mobile. “About damn time,” Rukia muttered under her breath as her fingers danced across the screen.

She straightened as the call went through. “Yes, madam Vice-Chairwoman, I have confirmation.” 

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The winner of the office betting pool receives her reward, and Byakuya drops in on a bedridden Ichigo. Beta'd by ichibanseiken.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Seven_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_Renji pulled the sheets and blankets up over the Kuchiki’s back. “You fallin’ asleep?”_

_“Perhaps,” Byakuya admitted as his breathing evened out._

_Out in the hallway, Zaraki Kenpachi glanced over his shoulder and through the glass pane in the door. Rukia did her best to wait patiently, most definitely not fidgeting as Kenpachi nodded to Uryuu, who squinted as he peaked through the blinds covering the window between the room and the ward hallway._

_“Well?” Rukia tried for a calm, even tone._

_“Without a doubt,” Uryuu decided, looking through the window well above the girl’s head._

_Zaraki made an affirmative grunt as the younger Kuchiki reached for her mobile. “About damn time,” Rukia muttered under her breath as her fingers danced across the screen._

_She straightened as the call went through. “Yes, madam Vice-Chairwoman, I have confirmation.”_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Congratulations are in order, Ise-chan.”

Nanao bowed as she accepted the personal check from the Superintendent General, her posture no less formal than when receiving her small, handmade bowl of thin tea moments before. She tucked the check into the sleeve of her silver-trimmed indigo kimono and reclaimed the tea with a demure smile.

“That’s my industrious little Nanao,” Kyouraku crooned, pink floral fabric spreading around him haphazardly over the tatami. 

“What are you implying, exactly?” Her expression remained neutral, though a distinct chill settled into her tone.

“Nothing, nothing,” Shunsui flashed a solicitous smile and fanned himself, though he made no effort to distance himself from the sunken hearth in the center of the room. “You just have such a knack-”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Nanao nearly creased his skull with her own fan, which she closed and tucked back into her obi with care. “Careful planning and thorough preparation pay off.”

“Speaking of plans,” Ukitake chimed in from his place closest the door, “might I inquire as to your intentions for your winnings?”

“You may. I am –”

“-dreaming of a hot date with Agent Aikawa as we speak,” Kyouraku murmured while reflexively protecting his head.

Nanao glared at him over the top of her glasses. “As you barely pay me a living wage, I will use a portion for personal uses,” she countered. “The remainder of my winnings, however, will be channeled back to the cause that the office pool nearly ruined by its very existence.” _It does provide a plausible reason to call Aikawa-san, though, as his entire squad owes me money. Not that Kyouraku-keishi-cho needs to know that…nor need he discover that a percentage will go to Hisagi-kun, who brought up dancing to Abarai-keibu-ho in the first place._

Ukitake beamed his approval, while Shunsui murmured something approximating “such a romantic” with a dreamy grin.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Yamamoto-keishi-soukan pronounced after whispering to his assistant, who squirreled his checkbook away. The broad-shouldered, elderly man gave Nanao an appraising look, lifting his bearded chin as he observed her. “You will inform my office of any additional funds that you require to that end.”

Nanao inclined her head as Juushirou’s grin widened.

“That’s quite generous of you, sir,” Ukitake cradled a small ceramic bowl in his hands. “In the same spirit, I hear you’ve approved the renovation project for the homicide division?”

“Would that it were only a modest project,” Shunsui sighed and shifted on his cushion. “The boys will get shiny new digs, but the whole building will need the once-over while we bring it into the twenty-first century.”

“Will the security overhaul really be that extensive?” One of Juushirou’s eyebrows inched upwards.

“And expensive – it might actually be easier to just go with a new building than to gut the place, redo all of the wiring, replace the plumbing, upgrade most of the windows, and so on,” Kyouraku sipped his tea after sniffing it. “I’ve seen pagodas closer to code than our humble headquarters.” 

_And I will have the unmitigated pleasure of reviewing each and every proposal for the renovation,_ Ise-chan swallowed a sigh.

“A pagoda would be easier to get a building permit for, unfortunately,” Ukitake gave his partner a sympathetic look. “The realty situation in that neighborhood is much like that around the studio, in that new projects only take place when an old structure crumbles and a substantial amount of insurance money is available.”

“Hmm.” Shunsui’s eyelids drooped. “Maybe we can take up shop in the dance hall and wait for Aizen and cronies to blow up the building completely this time?”

“Absolutely not!” Juushirou exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. “I’ll consider a group rate for ballroom instruction, but that will be the extent of the professional discount.”

“You drive a hard bargain, my dear,” Kyouraku-keishi-chō procured Ukitake’s hand, grinning as he kissed it. “We will find a way to sally forth without storming your castle.”

“As relieved as I am to avoid such an onslaught,” Ukitake gave him a gentle, indulgent look, “I am more relieved to be spared explaining such stewardship of the property to Bya-kun.”

Shunsui released his partner’s hand and set down his tea bowl, folding his own, more hirsute hands into his sleeves. Nanao contemplated the tatami floor before lifting her head to watch rare rays of winter sunlight move over the shoji screens opposite, the swaying birch trees in the surrounding gardens casting splintered shadows on the paper panes.  As the silence stretched on a moment too long, her attention drifted to the scroll hanging in the alcove behind the wizened Superintendent General Yamamoto.

_Loyalty_ , Nanao pursed her lips as she contemplated the single kanji dominating the top of the banner. _A bit atypical for a tea ceremony…but rather appropriate under the circumstances._

“While we’re touching on unpleasant topics, what news from National Security?” Ukitake Juushirou offered with a light cough.

“From the sublime to the ridiculous,” Kyouraku muttered under his breath. “I prefer the patented Kuchiki cold shoulder to federally funded phone tag.”

“You weren’t the one subjected to hours of Muzak while on hold,” Nanao countered, eyebrow twitching and fingers gripping the tea bowl without mercy.

“Ah, but my tender feelings were irreparably damaged,” Shunsui couldn’t quite forestall his smirk. “I wonder how big my office needs to be before they’ll take my calls?”

“What of Kirio-chan? She still works for the Agency, no?” Ukitake frowned.

“Haven’t heard from her in ages. How ‘bout you, Yama-jii?”

“I will be meeting with the director within the week,” the Superintendent General pronounced with a rumble, “though I do not expect anything fruitful to come of it; it would be best to proceed as originally planned.”

“I figured you’d say that,” Kyouraku exhaled with put-upon resignation.

Nanao refrained from comment, conveniently mesmerized by the simple beauty of the floral arrangement within the alcove.

“You mean to go ahead with the investigation of the florists’ warehouse, then, despite lack of access to the site…or the evidence?” Ukitake tilted his head, dubious.

“Are you suggesting that we should abandon our own inquiries – not to mention leaving Shinji and the Bureau high and dry – just because NSA won’t play nice?” Shunsui deadpanned. “We’d hardly be interfering with their lofty goals by poking around in our own backyard; besides, last time I checked they only prevent attacks – if someone’s already dead, you’re on your own.”

An amused snort issued forth from the general direction of Yamamoto-keishi-soukan as he set out a few more trays of confections before his guests. Nanao waited until her elders had perused the offerings before selecting a delicate, citron-flavored cake.

Juushirou was about to bite into his own piece of higashi when he turned to Kyouraku, eyes narrowed. “What did Urahara steal?”

“‘Steal’ is such a strong word, Juu-chan. I’m sure he’ll forward every relevant item along,” Shunsui assured him drily, “if they ever figure out there’s anything missing.”

“Photographs aside, word has it that he left the scene mostly undisturbed,” Nanao explained in earnest to the snowy-haired man at her side. “Though that remains a matter of conjecture.”

Ukitake chuckled weakly despite himself. “The spirit of interagency cooperation is alive and well, I see.” He paused. “What will you do about the surveillance?”

“You say that like there’s much to be done.” Most of the humor from Shunsui’s tone vanished.

“As it is warrantless, and directed _at the victims_ of the crime, I would certainly hope so,” Juushirou furrowed his brows in consternation.

“Well, that’s a tricky thing,” Kyouraku drummed his fingers on the as-yet unlit tobacco pipe before him. “Team Akon can find about any wiretap or hidden camera, and they’ve been tallying up at least as many bugs as contaminated foodstuffs while they sweep the private residences.”

“But the real question,” Shunsui continued, “is what to do about the spy gear. Which buys you more freedom: disable the equipment only to have it replaced and start an agency war to boot, or work around the invasion and go about your business, giving Big Brother a little of what he wants?”

“It is not the place of the police force to compromise national security,” Yamamoto declared in a low rumble that brooked no argument; light glinted off of his bald head as if for emphasis. “Nor is it within the purview of the National Security Agency to use our officers and allies as bait. It will be necessary to monitor both the affected individuals and the activities of their observers, and act as appropriate.”

It took a moment for Nanao to piece out the meaning of the Superintendent General’s statement.

“So we’re to do nothing but spy on them ourselves?” The words tumbled out her mouth to her surprise, but she was too indignant to recant her statement.

_We’ve spent weeks following Kuchiki-keibu and Abarai-keibu-ho’s every move, albeit initially for entertainment purposes. There have been officers assigned to their security detail since the office break-in, and Rukia-chan and Kurosaki-kun have been similarly guarded after the poisonings. I assumed, at first, that the guards were for their protection…not for reporting their each and every move back to headquarters. I must be every bit the foolish romantic that Kyouraku-keishi-chō portrays me to be._

“‘Spying’ implies a level of subtlety, my little Nanao,” Shunsui pierced her ruminations with unexpected tenderness. “Our mission will be that of providing a very visible presence while watching out for the kids, reminding all of the circling sharks –Aizen, NSA, and paparazzi among them – that we’re on to them, and that they are out of bounds...assuming there’s a stray conscience to be had among the lot of them.”

“That’s a sizeable assumption,” Ukitake frowned, pensive. “Though there is something to be said for maintaining order in a decent fashion, not merely within lawful bounds.”

“That is all well and good,” Nanao made sure to keep her breath – and her temper - under careful control, “but what of privacy for law-abiding citizens?”

“What privacy?” Shunsui’s hands came to rest on his knees. “Even prior to this debacle, neither Kuchiki-keibu nor Kurosaki-kun were exactly strangers to the limelight, nor are Rukia-chan or Abarai-kun the shy, retiring types. I think you’ll find them better prepared for the travails ahead than your average ‘citizen.’”

“Which is beside the point – they ought not _have to-_ ”

“We know,” Juushirou declared with quiet intensity. “And I can assure you, Ise-chan, that not a one of us wishes to increase their burdens. The task before us is to abide what is, and work towards what ought to be.”

Nanao nodded and slipped her hands into her sleeves, letting her next words slip away and allowing the conversation to turn to lighter topics.

_I have to think that best way to proceed rests somewhere between Kyouraku-keishi-chō’s pragmatism and Ukitake-san’s idealism. While I admit that I don’t have the patience or the experience to simply sit by and do nothing, I’m not sure what I can possibly accomplish by myself._

Nanao bit the inside of her cheek as she almost revealed herself with a relieved sigh.

_Of course. I keep forgetting that I need not approach such a task on my own, when -_

“Ah ha, I can see the gears turning now,” Shunsui crooned, winking at his assistant. “Preparing to mobilize the troops, Commander?”

“The affairs of the Service Woman’s Association are none of your concern,” Ise-chan treated him to a subtle, devious smile. “Unless you’d like to make a donation?”

“I think I donated enough when I made my wager,” Kyouraku made a pained face and patted his wallet. “Count on me for moral support, though.”

“Immoral support is more like it…” Juushirou murmured as he swirled the last dregs of tea in his cup.

Nanao nodded in assent.  _I’ll not see all my hard work go to waste, and a task such as this is just what the SWA was meant to achieve._

The time to call an emergency meeting had come.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Only one of the wheels on his IV pole was squeaky, but it was enough to keep his mind from wandering as it protested each and every seam in the laminate floor.

Byakuya caught fragments of conversations as he went, a stray phrase or name catching his interest moments before the thread of words slipped out of range. The clack and clank of trays sliding onto a meal trolley, the chirps and beeps of the nurses’ station, and the hum and pang of the aged heating system skirted the edge of his consciousness as he made his way through the ward, none of them possessing the volume or the complexity to drown out his recalcitrant, stainless-steel IV pole or the footfalls of the uniformed officers in his wake.

His left hand twitched as the urge to draw the front his robe closed grew overwhelming; the Kuchiki heir refused to fidget, though, a glance at the underlying gown, scrub pants and slippers revealing him to be as clothed as was permissible under the circumstances.  The boxy gray plastic of the cardiac monitor strained the confines of the gown’s pocket and weighed heavily on his breast, the pressure inflicted on the bruised ribs underneath less troubling than the reminder of his ongoing confinement within the hospital. 

_Not that brooding on my circumstances will speed my recovery_ , Byakuya almost-sighed as he caught himself leaning on the pole for support, _nor will begrudging those who are trying to help me accomplish anything of use._ Casting a quick glance over his shoulder he acknowledged the policemen that followed at a respectful distance; the middle-aged man and his gangly partner nodded as they refilled their paper cups at the nearest coffee pot. _Better to have a chaperone than to drag an oxygen tank and a walker around, I suppose, though Ishida-sensei will insist on as much if he catches me._

Pursing his lips to ease his shortness of breath, Byakuya scanned the room numbers once more before catching sight of his destination and moving toward it at a stately, leisurely pace, the top speed that his ailing body would allow.

Byakuya suppressed a shiver as a cool bead of perspiration tickled his nape and traced a wandering line between his shoulder blades, making him hesitate as he reached for the door handle. The seasoned detective took a long, deliberate breath and forced himself back into motion; the door opened with only the slightest pressure from his outstretched fingers.

The room was dimly lit, tidy, and quiet as a crypt.

A young man - the sole occupant of the eerily still space - sat motionless in bed, an open book in his lap and earnest brown gaze directed a million miles away. The man’s spiky shock of golden hair clashed horribly with his neon pink arm cast, yet failed to dispel the gloom around the lonely figure. It occurred to Byakuya, in that moment, that he had never seen the reporter alone before.

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” the noble-born captain inclined his head as he crossed the threshold, IV pole in tow.

“Hey,” Ichigo murmured absently. He flipped the book closed with a _thud,_ blinking as he fully registered the presence of another and startling badly.

“Byakuya! Dude, should you be out of bed?” Brown eyes listless only moments before went wide in alarm.

“Your virtuosity in progressively disrespectful modes of address is quite astonishing,” Byakuya decided as he sank into the upholstered chair closest to the door. “I understand you are to be released tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ichigo tossed his novel aside and eased his right heel onto a pillow. “I’ve got a few weeks of rehab ahead of me yet, but I’m on track for getting discharged.” He paused. “I hear you’ll be stuck on desk duty and can’t drive for a month.”

“What a relief it is, to know that one’s privacy is still held in high esteem,” Byakuya exhaled in even tones rather than sighing in resignation. “If only my compatriots applied their zeal for gossip into timely completion of their reports.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” the younger man fingered the scratchy, roughened margin of his cast as he scowled. “I hate to admit it, but gossip is job security for reporters.”

“And law enforcement,” the homicide inspector concurred, watching in silent amusement as Ichigo continued to fidget.

 The clicking of the wall clock grew louder as the conversation lulled. Accustomed to pregnant pauses and suspects squirming in tense anticipation during interrogation, Byakuya remained motionless as he recovered from his longest walk in the hospital to date.

“You want some tea?” Ichigo blurted out suddenly as his cheeks pinked.

Byakuya blinked.

“It’s nothing special,” Ichigo retrieved a large thermos from his bedside with his uninjured arm, “but Urahara brewed way too much, and I can’t drink it all myself.”

“Very well.” Byakuya was quietly appalled at the way his mouth watered as the reporter filled two diminutive paper cups with steaming, bright green fluid.

“Come to think of it, are you even allowed to have this stuff?” Ichigo extended a cup towards him with a hint of mischief in his tone.

“That is irrelevant,” Byakuya wrapped his cool fingers around the scalding concoction before his host changed his mind.

“Yeah, whatever; it’s been checked for TK-509 and it’s clean, if you were wondering.” Settling back against a stack of pillows, Ichigo blew on the tea cradled loosely in his hands.

“I suppose you find that reassuring,” the nobleman inhaled the fragrant steam. “What makes you think that it is free of other adulterants?”

“Well, because Urahara wouldn’t…”

Byakuya cocked an eyebrow.

“He’s on our side!” Ichigo retorted though incredulity crept into his expression.

“I doubt he would willingly do us harm, I grant you,” the elder mused before sipping his tea, “but I would not assume that anyone aware of our…predicament…will refrain from indulging their curiosity for much longer, or that they have no ulterior motives in doing so.”

Ichigo sighed and slumped slightly.

“It is also not a coincidence that Officers Tachibana and Shirosuke are playing poker with Madarame-san and Ayasegawa –san across the hall,” Byakuya went on as Ichigo shifted his pillow-splinted broken leg and leaned forward, squinting at the glass panes that separated his room from the lounge a few meters away.

“Those guys…” Ichigo’s scowl returned in full force as he eyed the assembled men in the other room. “I thought they were finally leaving me alone, and they’re still spying on me?”

“I believe this falls under the guise of ‘guarding,’” Byakuya straightened his arm as the IV pump’s alarm interrupted their conversation, “though you are, in essence, correct. I imagine you will have another security detail assigned for you at discharge.”

“Shit.” The reporter set his cup aside in disgust. “Here I thought things would go back to normal when I got outta here.”

The detective silenced the beeping device with practiced dexterity, fingers gliding over the dials and buttons as he wondered at Ichigo’s definition of normalcy.

“Speaking of normal,” a trace of anxiety filled Ichigo’s brown eyes before he turned them to Byakuya. “Do you think our, uh, _issues_ will go back to the way they were?”

“I do not know. Though many of the symptoms of toxicity have abated, Urahara-sensei gave little indication of whether other effects might linger.”

Byakuya resisted the frown tugging at his lips, less concerned about his precognition than the ongoing, troubling phenomena he’d witnessed during his recovery. _Still, no sense in alarming the boy by divulging what might simply be sequelae of my treatment and unrelated to the poisoning._

“You’re getting them too, aren’t you, Byakuya?” 

The Kuchiki heir snapped to attention, sheer force of will stopping him from crushing the cup in his grasp.

“The n –”

“Before you proceed,” Byakuya interrupted, “say only what you can abide becoming public knowledge.”

“You’re bugged?”

“Hardly. We must assume, though,” the detective fixed him with a pointed look, “that we shall not have the luxury of privacy any time soon.”

_One careless word, after all, may condemn me to desk duty in perpetuity,_ Byakuya predicted as his brows cinched together in response.

“Seriously? You’d think they’d sack their star detective over something like this?”

The ‘star detective’ was on the cusp of replying when his breath stopped short. Byakuya paused, face devoid of the surprise that nearly rendered his jaw slack, and sipped at his cooling tea while selecting his next thought with more care. He focused on each word to ensure that he was understood.

_Perhaps not, though I would prefer more attention be paid to my investigative findings rather than the latest manifestation of my…’spidey sense.’_

The discomfort of using his lieutenant’s vernacular was soon eclipsed by the sight of Ichigo shooting tea out of his nose.

“‘Spidey sense’?” Ichigo snorted and blotted the stray droplets rolling down his chin. “Holy hell, Renji really is rubbing off on you, ack,” the young man coughed several times as he caught his breath.

Byakuya waited for the sputtering and snickering to die down before voicing – or rather _thinking_ – the obvious.

_Has it escaped your attention, Kurosaki Ichigo, that you have been speaking to yourself?_

“Eh?” Ichigo blinked at him, his casted hand covering his mouth lest he cough again.

_You heard me,_ the Kuchiki pointed out and sighed, the soft sound of his exhale drawing attention to the fact that his lips hadn’t moved.

_“Wait, does that mean…no, no way. If I can hear what he’s thinking, does that mean that Byakuya…”_ Ichigo’s brown eyes widened and met Byakuya’s in astonishment.

_Yes, indeed,_ Byakuya affirmed as his companion grew more alarmed by the second.

_“W-wait,”_ the tow-headed reporter’s thoughts seemed to congeal with considerable effort. _“Is this…is this my ability, or yours?”_

_A combination of both, most likely,_ the detective concluded and shifted a bit in his seat. _Typically, I am able to anticipate certain events and actions, and my intuition seems undiminished despite absence of the poison. This, however, is a novel experience for me._

_“I, uh,”_ Ichigo ran a hand through his already-tousled hair, _“I’m not sure this counts, but… I can read people pretty well. Sometimes it’s being able to pick up on motivation, but more often I can share what others are feeling.”_

_I believe the term you are looking for is ‘empathy,’_ Byakuya supplied with a minute arch of his eyebrow, making no effort to conceal his satisfaction in improving the reporter’s vocabulary.

_“Leave it to you to be an ass, even in my head,”_ Ichigo scowled, flexing the fingers of his injured hand.

_Your eloquence continues to astound,_ the Kuchiki scion gave a subtle shake of his head as he set his empty teacup aside, _but that is beside the point. This telepathy is a rather convenient development._

_“Or creepy as hell,”_ Ichigo practically shuddered and continued to frown at the blankets on his bed. _“You can’t read everyone, can you? I hadn’t picked up on anything like this…”_

Byakuya elected to keep his thoughts, at that moment, to himself.

_“Well, I guess there was static or something in the background…but…I…”_ After another awkward moment of mental stammering, Ichigo’s gaze was redirected from his bedclothes to the somber inspector at his side.

_“Your nightmares. At first I thought it was the drugs they used to keep you sedated,”_ Ichigo finally confessed, _“but…i- it’s like some horror movie broadcasting in my head whenever you’re asleep. I guess when you’re awake you can control it, and I can only hear you when you want me to, but…yeah.”_

_I see._ Byakuya refrained from giving a more committal reply.

_“I’m not sure you do,”_ the blonde shook his head, determined. _“I’ve been having the same kind of dreams, seeing similar things –even when I’m awake.”_

The silence stretched out to an uncomfortable degree, Byakuya’s complete stillness amplifying the restless twitching threatening to break free of Ichigo.

_I know,_ Byakuya admitted as he closed his eyes.

“But what does it mean?” Ichigo exclaimed at last, knuckles blanching as he gripped the bedrails. “Is any of it even real, or are we going –”

“I cannot say.”

“You can’t, or you won’t? Dammit, Byakuya, I thought you, of all people, would want to get to the bottom of this!”

“What makes you think that I do not?” Byakuya’s eyes popped open in indignation. “If you believe that I am less motivated to make sense of this situation, or that I have less to lose, then you are gravely mistaken.”

“Then why won’t you level with me?” Ichigo fired right back, his voice rising with scarcely concealed desperation. “No one else will tell me squat, and they look at me like I’ll explode or crumble if they so much as breathe the wrong way.”

Though he sympathized with the younger man, Byakuya let nothing slip past his composed exterior.

“I know my friends mean well,” Kurosaki went on, “and I can see that they would help, if they could…but they don’t understand what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I can tell that the cops feel bad for me,  too, but each and every one just clams up, like all they can do is watch and see what happens. I hoped…I thought you could help, because you _know_ …”

Ichigo frowned and shifted his leg again, letting it rotate outward to relieve the pressure on his heel.

“We’re not crazy. Even if hat-and-clogs can’t explain what happened – what’s happening- to us, there has to be a point to it, right?” Ichigo’s gaze lifted from his broken extremities, and Byakuya was taken aback by the cautious hope written in the boy’s limpid brown eyes. “Something good has to come of all this. It might not be of our own making, but there must be a way we can use it to our advantage…”

“We were poisoned, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya stated gently after a deep breath. “Whatever uses our talents may have, to try to assign additional meaning or value to them is, I believe, an exercise in foolishness.  To use your abilities as a pretext for pushing your friends away is an even greater folly.”

_Not to mention that putting your faith in dreams and illusions will not enhance your credibility._

“I don’t care what people think of me,” Ichigo blurted out rather hastily, “if it means-”

“Stop.”

Ichigo did, in fact, fall silent, which came as a surprise to both men.

“If you give free reign to your emotions and throw caution to the wind, you will play directly into the hands of those who put you in this position and continue to manipulate you,” Byakuya looked him right in the eye. _All of them, be it Aizen or any of the organizations invading our privacy, are simply waiting for you to do their dirty work for them._

Byakuya watched as Ichigo took a deep breath in, out, and in again before unleashing a long, slow exhale that ended in a shoulder slump.

“What do you want me to do?”

Byakuya paused. “Think. Observe. Have patience. Ask for help when you need it; you are only as alone as you wish to be.”

Suppressing a shiver, the inspector considered the implications of taking his own advice.

“I will do what I can to help you within the confines of the law, but I will not condone foolish risk-taking. More importantly, if you allow yourself to perish in vain, I shall not forgive you,” the homicide chief gave Ichigo a sidelong glance, “nor will I think kindly upon you for the distress my sister and my Assistant Captain would suffer in your absence.”

“You know,” Ichigo murmured after a long, pensive moment, “it’s still kinda unsettling when you stop acting like a jerk long enough to give decent advice.”

“What makes you think I was acting?” A humorless Byakuya posited.

Ichigo’s eyebrow twitched. “Hell if I know; brain damage from the poison?”

“That is not funny,” Byakuya declared with certainty.

“Like you’d know.” A hint of mirth enlivened Ichigo’s earnest eyes after a noticeable absence. “So you’re giving me the green light to check this out, provided I stay out of your way and don’t get myself killed?”

“Crudely put, but you’ve grasped the gist,” the detective allowed. “Though I find it interesting that you felt compelled to ask my permission before proceeding…?”

“Oh, shut it,” the blond man snapped as his ears reddened. “No one who’s been triple-teamed by Rukia, Uryuu and Renji would ever willingly repeat the experience.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Byakuya replied with a faint smirk. “Speaking of your friends, you might try turning to them with your troubles rather than sequestering yourself as you have thus far.”

“Since when do you care so much about my friends?”

“Your associates took over my room after being kicked out of yours,” the Kuchiki heir gathered his robe about him, preparing to stand. “I am here purely as a matter of self-defense.”

“Right.” Ichigo followed the elder’s progress towards the door with his eyes. “Thanks for coming, Byakuya. Really.”

Byakuya nodded as he nudged his IV pole forward and grasped the door handle, weighing his words as he left the room.

“Take care of yourself, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

It occurred to him, as the door closed, that his last words were the most useful advice he’d given that evening.

Breathing deeply, centering himself and walling off his mind from the outside world, Byakuya began his journey down the hospital hallway. _They are so very much alike_ , he mused, an image of Ichigo and Renji vigorously bickering vivid in his mind’s eye. _Tenacious, blustering, insecure, heedless of that which poses the greatest threat yet determined to protect others in the most impulsive, unprepared, ludicrous manner possible…_

Byakuya stopped suddenly, gripping the rail along the wall to catch his breath and curse the body that no longer bowed to his will. The scuffed linoleum beneath his slippered feet was hard and unforgiving, and he gave it a withering look as his legs trembled with the strain of standing upright.

_I despise deception,_ he bit the inside of his lower lip as he forced his feet into motion again, _and yet…as much as I respect them, I will stoop to whatever depth is necessary to protect them…_

Gait slowing again, Byakuya abandoned the line of thought as his clammy hand slid down with smooth surface of the IV pole and stopped only at the plastic box housing the pump. Glaring at his enfeebled limbs, he then fixed his gaze at the end of the hall, put out at the distance between his current location and his own hospital room. He wondered, not for the first time, if he would make it back under his own power.

_Damn it._

Distracted as he was by his corporeal predicament, it took him a moment to notice the cool draft that suddenly stirred his hair to the side.

A shadow flitted through his peripheral vision.

Turning his head slightly, he took in the nurse passing medicines a few paces in front of him and the uniformed officers filing into the hallway behind.

Byakuya closed his eyes, focusing on the chill enveloping his left side, the horror of making a spectacle of himself momentarily forgotten. A mere arm’s length in front of him was a cloud of sorts, ephemeral as fog and shimmering violet behind his eyelids. Instinct drove his feet forward and he stepped into the anomaly, moisture condensing on his brow as he did so.

_Fear._

He coughed, eyes popping open as the odd thought entered his head. Byakuya took a deep breath and coughed again, relinquishing his iron grip on the rail to cover his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.

_Overwhelming, heart-stopping fear._

The wave of emotion rippled through him with a shiver, and Byakuya forced another cough to hide the effect of the foreign sensation from the increasingly curious hospital staff passing by.

_What in the world…?_

He pressed himself back against the wall and pulled his IV pole alongside while he gathered his wits.

_This feeling is not mine. It is almost as though I stepped into another’s…_

_No._

Pulse quickening without his permission, Byakuya kept his countenance calm while he surveyed the hallway for the hundredth time that minute. His security detail kept a respectful distance of several meters, though the elder officer kept a hand poised on the radio clipped to his belt.

_This is simply a late manifestation of the poisoning – a seizure, perhaps_ , the homicide inspector reasoned as he broke out in a cold sweat. _Had I not been discussing such fanciful things mere moments ago, I would not be entertaining this delusion at all._

The rational part of his mind, however, could not blame Ichigo alone for the sinking conclusion that was currently robbing him of breath.

_Which is the more worrisome inference; that I continue to suffer hallucinations, or that what I just experienced is real?_

As if to answer his question, the likeness of a young girl in pigtails and a jumper flashed before his mind’s eye. Large green eyes wide in terror, lips moving soundlessly, she seemed unaware of the rivulet of blood coursing down the side of her face.

Byakuya shuddered and blinked the image away, fighting to resist the overwhelming tide of horror that crashed over him at the sight. A splitting headache hit him then like a thunderclap; his stomach turned and heaved while his vision went in and out of focus.

_Breathe in through the nose._

The younger officer refilled his coffee cup as the elder strolled nonchalantly in his direction.

_Breathe out through the mouth._

A middle-aged nurse stepped into the alcove of the nearest patient room, her dark eyes refusing to stray from the clipboard in her grasp.

_Breathe in…_

Tightness seized his chest and throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe or to move. Despite the fear that rendered his muscles rigid and sluggish he turned to look down the hall, unsurprised at the diminutive figure standing in front of his room. The pigtailed girl tilted her head to the side and simply looked at him before she disappeared without a trace.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Byakuya exhaled, struggling with all his might to calm himself and slow the thoughts scattering and swirling through his head. He stepped away from the wall as sedately as possible, even as his blood ran cold and pounded in his ears; inclining his head, he murmured, “Urahara-sensei” before taking a step towards his room.

“Tessai, get the wheelchair,” Kisuke said over his shoulder with quiet urgency.

Disinclined to comply or engage in conversation, Byakuya positioned the IV pole between himself and the scraggly pathologist as he made egress down the hall.

“Byakuya.” Urahara’s hand was gentle but firm as a vice upon his shoulder.

Casting a glance backwards toward the officers and the muscular, bespectacled man wielding a wheelchair in expectant silence, Byakuya shrugged Kisuke off.

“Is this your doing?” Byakuya inquired somewhere between a whisper and a hiss.

Urahara paused, his hand hovering over the noble’s arm in uncertainty.

_At least have the decency to look repentant_ , the Kuchiki seethed. The blond’s fire engine red scrubs clashed horribly with his white coat and struck Byakuya as obscenely bright against the muted décor of the hospital ward.

“I visited that boy, as you no doubt intended,” Byakuya was unable to completely keep the ire out of his voice as he put one weary foot in front of the other. “Having done my duty, I would appreciate a furlough of at least a day before being manipulated again.”

“Whoa, there,” Kisuke addressed him with hands raised in defense and a mournful expression. “You’re welcome to wail on me all you want, but try not to break yourself in the process.”

Byakuya’s eyelids drooped and he exhaled in droll amusement, his tremors successfully suppressed. “I certainly hope I was more persuasive than that with Kurosaki Ichigo.”

The chief medical examiner walked alongside him at a respectful distance. “If I told you there were no adulterants in the tea, would you feel any better?”

“No, not particularly,” the aristocrat decided as he considered the implications.

_If this goes on, I will be unfit for duty, incapable of handling family affairs, and –_

“CODE BLUE, PICU,” an eerily monotonous voice rang out via the overhead speakers. “CODE BLUE, PICU…”

The announcement repeated thrice more, allowing the diaphoretic Byakuya to mouth the words and attempt to digest the information.

“Pediatric intensive care unit,” Kisuke explained as Byakuya’s expression became completely blank. “That’s how they call for help when one of the kids there is in big trouble.”

The two men and their unusual procession continued down the adult ward, their progress achingly slow, for another minute more.

“The child is already dead, Urahara-sensei,” Byakuya murmured with his eyes fixed on a distant, invisible horizon. “Complications of head trauma.”

“Hmm.”

Byakuya pressed his lips together in a thin, mirthless line as they moved along. _At long last, I have discovered that which can strike you speechless._

“We can reschedule, you know,” Urahara broke the heavy silence as they neared, then passed the noble’s room. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“Delay? For what purpose?” A quick glance revealed Yachiru standing on his vacated pillow, Renji and Uryuu gesturing wildly as they attempted to dissuade her from climbing up the medical equipment on the far wall, and what appeared to be an intense conversation between Rukia and Kenpachi despite the chaos within the tight space. Byakuya sighed. “If your assertions are correct, nothing substantive will improve, regardless of the timeframe. Best not to keep the Superintendent General waiting.”

“The only thing that beats a grumpy Yamamoto is a grumpy Ryuuken whose office has been commandeered,” Kisuke whistled to himself and scratched at his haphazard hair. “You’re a grade-A masochist when it gets right down to it.”

“I take no pleasure in any of this, I assure you.” Byakuya frowned as he came to the ‘Emergency Exit’ sign at the end of the hall, glancing askance at his IV equipment.

“And _that’s_ why we’ll be going for a ride in the elevator,” Kisuke grinned and pointed with flourish to the staircase beyond the alarmed, safety glass-inlaid door. “If you think you can make it.”

Byakuya turned without a word and pushed the wobbling, obdurate IV pole before him, parting the uniformed officers and passing by Tessai and his empty wheelchair. He fixed the nearest elevator in his sights, determined to walk the daunting, twenty-meter expanse if it was the last thing he did.

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	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya comes to an important decision. Beta'd by ichibanseiken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: complete fluff, not to be taken seriously.

_Compression, Chapter 28_

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**:*:*:**

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_Byakuya cast a glance to the substantial amount of cases in the crates along the wall. “Let’s go over the new findings before designating further research tasks. But first, if you would do me a favor…”_

_“Name it.” Renji gulped down the sports drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve._

_“Get rid of that abominable ring tone.”_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Work faster, you piece of crap,” Renji flicked the OtterBox housing his iPhone in expectant hope of improving the device’s downloading speed.

“Is it often that attacking a piece of technology enhances its functionality?” Byakuya continued to type on his new, sleek laptop without looking up, regally ensconced in a nest of pillows and blankets.

“Nope,” Renji slumped further down into the chair at Byakuya’s bedside. “Makes me feel better, though.”

“Well then, by all means.” Colors glinted and reflected from the computer screen onto the lenses of the Kuchiki’s wire-rim glasses.

A cheerful tone chimed from the smartphone’s speakers as the last file downloaded. Renji wiped the smile off his face before it took root and set himself to the task of compiling a new playlist…and distracting his industrious superior. His biker jacket creaked as he turned to stare at Byakuya, taking in the perfect posture and neutrally-aligned wrists as the inspector toiled within the makeshift ‘office’ of his hospital bed.

“Any idea how long you’ve been workin’ at that, Captain?”

“Yes.” Byakuya toggled between tabs before opening a blank document.

“Eight hours, forty-seven minutes, and –”

“Thirty-five seconds. Yes, thank you, Abarai.”

“You do realize you’re not getting paid for this, right?” Renji queried a few seconds before his brain caught up to his mouth. “Though, I guess you’re not really in this for the money.”

“Very astute observations, all.” The corner of Byakuya’s mouth quirked up for an instant.

“So you’re kickin’ it up a notch, because…?” The redhead made a show of propping his chin up his palm, eyes alight in amused curiosity.

“We have amassed an extensive backlog of paperwork, Abarai. As I lack an office and anything else to do during this period of…confinement…” Byakuya lingered on the word with unabashed disdain, “I will have these reports completed before I am discharged.”

“All of ‘em?” Renji squawked, incredulous. “Um…”

Byakuya peered at him over the top of his glasses.

“D’ya want me to, um,” the words stumbled out of Renji’s mouth, “to do some more of ‘em?”

“Absolutely not. I am not yet so enfeebled that I cannot perform my duties,” Byakuya retorted, his tone a bit defensive to Renji’s ears.

“My point was,” the tattooed man scratched at his neck in an attempt to placate, “that I had a good two week head start. It ain’t the end of the world, and a monkey could fill out most of those forms.”

“That is beside the point,” Byakuya pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. He sighed. “Though if I wake to find a wayward primate fiddling about on my laptop, I shall consider it a harbinger of the apocalypse.”

“You and me both,” Renji laughed and shifted again in his seat, the dark denim of his jeans scratching against the plastic armrest. “Seriously, though, you should take a break…or at least move, or something. I’ll never forgive myself if you wind up with a bedsore from doing gruntwork.”

Byakuya cocked an eyebrow at his as he pushed his glasses up.

“What? Someone’s gotta look out for your ass,” Renji almost managed with a straight face.

“I am grateful that your priorities are in order.” The Kuchiki’s expression was neutral but his voice laced with good humor.

“Speaking of priorities, whatdya gonna do when you get sprung?”

“Hnn.” Byakuya’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Renji was well aware of the morass of appointments and obligations awaiting the inspector upon his release from the facility.

“I meant what you _want_ to do, not all the ‘responsible’ crap you’re stuck with.”

“Ah.”

“Just imagine the possibilities,” Renji closed his eyes and made an expansive gesture towards the ceiling. “Food that tastes like something. A non-rubber mattress. A shower with more than two minutes worth of hot water.”

“Paradise, indeed,” the Kuchiki agreed as he scrolled through a large spreadsheet.

“That, and getting carted around by Abarai motors for a whole month.”

“I already have a driver in my employ,” Byakuya reminded him, though his tone was wistful.

“Not one as devastatingly handsome and fun to be with as I am, though.” Renji waggled his tattooed eyebrows for emphasis, hoping his roguish charm would outweigh the pathetic optimism fueling his offer.

“That is true,” the aristocratic detective mulled it over as he continued to type. “I would rather our interactions outside of work be a bit less…regimented, though.  I’ll not nudge you toward servility simply to gain the pleasure of your company.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Renji admitted as he dragged a finger along the touchscreen of his phone, “but I’m not sellin’ myself into slavery or whatever. I’d just feel better lookin’ out for you myself, at least until things settle down, okay?”

“I see,” Byakuya replied without making a commitment.

“I dunno if you do. I’ll end up texting you every two minutes just to make sure you’re still alive, and then you’ll wanna kill me for buggin’ ya, and then we’ll both be miserable.”

“I see,” the Kuchiki heir repeated, this time with an amused glint in his dark eyes. “You have a strangely effective way of stating your case.”

“You have no idea just how persuasive I can be,” Renji purred as he unleashed his smile.

“Though I am soon to be enlightened?”

“You betcha.” Renji’s grin went crooked as he savored the moment.

_I really missed stuff like this; shootin’ the breeze, flirting, getting more than a few minutes to ourselves…_

“Hey, Captain. There’s somethin’ I need your help with.”

_While I’m feeling brave…_

“Oh?”

“Yep. Life or death decision.” Renji paused for maximum effect. “Time to pick your new ringtone.”

Byakuya blinked at him.

_Damn, I really missed that, too._

“Should I be alarmed?” Byakuya asked in all due seriousness.

“Oh, no,” Renji lied. “I vetted this list; all you have to do is pick the one you like the best, and voila! It’ll play whenever you call me.”

“Yes, Abarai, I am familiar with the concept,” the Kuchiki sighed. “Allow me to save my work.”

“Absolutely.” _The lengths I have to go to just to get you to turn the damned thing off_ , Renji cursed the laptop silently as it was closed and set aside.     

“Whenever you’re ready,” Renji scooted his chair closer and folded the bedrail down and out of sight. He handed over the phone and pointed to the screen, “just tap the little arrow there…”

“The play button, you mean?” Byakuya accepted the device while adjusting his glasses. “What faith you must have in me, entrusting me with such expansive, newfangled technology.”

“Go easy on the sarcasm or you’ll sprain something,” the redhead huffed and turned to rest his elbow on the bed.

“Only my pride, I suspect.” Byakuya extended his arm to allow him to focus on the tiny screen. “Are these in any particular order?”

“Um, yeah,” Renji tried to keep the nervous lilt out of his voice. “The, um, really catchy ones are in the first half of the playlist, and I’d say the second half is more, erm, mushy.”

“Catchy or mushy,” the Kuchiki summarized. “Very well.”

Renji bit his lips as the inspector’s index finger alighted on the first file, exactly as expected.

_There are only a few sure bets in this world, and one of them is that you will never, ever do anything out of order,_ Renji reasoned, even as he gulped down a stray helping of apprehension. _I’m also hoping that you’re not going to kill me._

“What is this, Abarai?” Byakuya ‘s eyebrow inched upward as the first strains of music blared out of the miniature speaker.

“Wait for it…”

_“I like big butts-and-I-cannot-lie…”_

Renji coughed, almost swallowing his tongue in an effort not to laugh aloud.

_“Baby. Got. Back.”_

Byakuya stared at the phone wordlessly for another minute before touching the screen again.

_“It’s raining men, hallelujah! It’s raining men, amen!”_

The aristocrat’s expression remained blank as the refrain played out. He selected the next file.

_“I don’t want anybody else, when I think about you, I touch myself…”_

Byakuya’s right eyebrow twitched. Renji, for his part, snorted into the crease of his elbow and turned away for a moment.

_“Back that azz up!”_

The Kuchiki tapped the touchscreen with haste.

_“When I get that feeling, I want sexual healing…”_

_Oh, shit, the next one’s…_ Renji straightened a moment too late, his effort to snatch his phone back thwarted by the dexterous inspector.

_“I wanna fuck you like an animal…I wanna feel you from the inside…”_

“Um, Captain, I can explain.”

“Is that so?” Byakuya replied in a small voice.

His superior’s unusual tone prompted Renji to look up from the phone to the man himself.

“Holy shit, you’re blushing,” Renji announced before clapping a hand over his own mouth, using the moment of self-enforced silence to admire the crimson hue coloring the Kuchiki from the tip of his ears to the base of his neck.

“Is there something – less obvious perhaps – that you’d like to tell me, Abarai?”

“I, uh,” Renji squirmed and chuckled weakly, “I tried to find something good enough for you, honest, but my stupid brain just kept supplyin’ the weirdest, worst possible shit, or songs for girls, and I just gave in and went with the most gawd-awful ringtones I could find in the hope you’d think it was funny. But-”

“I see,” Byakuya cut off his subordinate’s rambling with no small amount of mercy. The noble-born captain shifted the pillow behind him as he skipped to the next song.

_“You shook me all night long…”_

“I must say,” the wealthy captain set his glasses aside and ran a hand over his still-flushed face, “your sense of the bizarre is unparalleled.”

 “That it is,” was Renji’s hesitant reply as Byakuya’s shoulders shook, visage hidden behind a pale hand. “Are…are you laughing?”

“No. I am mourning my dignity.”

_“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet…”_

“Abarai…” Byakuya’s voice dropped an octave.

“Lemme turn it off,” Renji volunteered, plucking the device out of the other’s hand. “These gadgets with their expansive, newfangled technology can be tough to work.”

“Do not tempt me, Lieutenant,” said Byakuya, eyes closed in an attempt to regain his composure.

“Temptation was supposed to be the whole point, sir,” the redhead cooed, patting the Kuchiki’s hand with care. “Just for the record, you are really fuckin’ sexy when you blush.”

“Is that so?” One dark eye cracked open to glance at the leather-clad, tattooed man.

“Well…okay, you’re pretty damn edible all the time.”

“I see.” Byakuya reached for a nearby water pitcher, pouring and downing a cup in silence. He shot his subordinate a half-annoyed, half-smoldering look. “And you will be expressing this opinion to the world, in the form of a sound bite?”

“Eh, well, probably not,” Renji admitted, fidgeting with his hair tie. “I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

“And now that you have?”

“Oh. You know me; I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Renji duly stated the obvious. Chastened or not, he could not help but admire the contrast of jet-black hair and flushed skin against the nondescript ecru that pervaded the rest of the room. A beam of weak sunlight peeked around the edge of a drawn shade and fell upon slender, deliberately folded hands in Byakuya’s lap.

“Though I guess,” trying for an expression of casual indifference, Renji allowed his fingers to wander towards the blankets hiding his captain’s lower half, “I could work on other ways of getting you flustered.”

“Is that wise?” Coal-gray eyes watched the approaching appendages with suspicion.

“Since when has that ever stopped me?” Renji unleashed a wolfish grin. “Besides, the bed’s big enough for the two of us.”

“We will do no such thing,” Byakuya declared, uncompromising, as his hand closed around Renji’s and halted its progress, “not in a hospital, of all places.”

“When’re you gettin’ discharged, again?” Renji leaned forward, making no effort to free his hand.

“Likely tomorrow,” a humorless voice issued forth from the doorway, causing both homicide detectives to startle. “Provided you suffer no unexpected setbacks.”

Ishida Ryuuken shut the door and approached the bed. Rather than back away – his reflexive reaction - Renji forced himself to remain still and seemingly unperturbed as the physician looked his patient over with a critical eye.

“Ishida-sensei.” Byakuya inclined his head.

Ryuuken turned to cast a glance at Renji.

“I would rather my lieutenant stay,” the Kuchiki answered the unexpressed question. “If he is so inclined."

“Y-yeah, of course.” Renji did not allow himself to cringe, nor did he let his fingers twitch below Byakuya’s cooler digits.

“I expected as much,” Ryuuken murmured, beginning his examination without further ado.

“Your bloodwork has normalized,” the doctor commented as he replaced the stethoscope in his white coat pocket minutes later, “and the remainder of the diagnostics has been unremarkable, stress test and EEG included.”

“That’s good, right?” Renji ventured when he coaxed his tongue into cooperation. _It’s like my brain shuts down whenever a white coat comes near…or a blood pressure cuff…or any threat of needles…_

“Yes,” Ryuuken did not look up as he reviewed a flowsheet within the chart, “though that does not alter the conditions either for your release or return to active duty.”

_Geez, sounds like parole_ , Renji winced, and the minute tightening of Byakuya’s jaw suggested that he shared the sentiment.

“No driving until a sleep-deprived EEG is repeated in a month – and is normal,” the physician clarified as he shut the chart. “Light exercise as tolerated with a partner. You will keep all of your follow-up appointments, including those mandated by your administrator.”

A look passed between doctor and patient that Renji did not understand.

“I expect that you shall limit your work hours to part time, meetings included,” Ryuuken continued in an authoritative monotone before pausing and turning to the muscular redhead, “and I expect that you shall bring him back at the first inclination of any trouble.”

“Unusual fatigue, tremors, insomnia,” Ishida-sensei enumerated to an increasingly unsettled Renji, “behavior changes, or any phenomenon that gives you pause, you will both return to the Emergency Department and ask for me. Is that understood?”

The detectives nodded as one. Renji noticed that Byakuya’s pulse had climbed as they received their instructions, and filed the fact away for later.

_I don’t know what to make of the personal attention from the owner of the hospital, or the uber-specific ground rules he’s laid out, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t good. It’s almost like the doc expects something like this to happen again…or worse._

_Shit._

“Abarai.” Byakuya’s smooth baritone snapped him back to reality.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any questions?” The Kuchiki echoed Ryuuken’s inquiry with a neutral expression in place.

“Naw, I got nothin.’ A bunch a stuff’ll probably come to me right after you leave,” Renji admitted with a sheepish grin. He blinked, surprised, when the physician handed him a business card.

“You’ll call me then. Gentlemen,” Ryuuken gave them a brief bow before exiting the room without a backward glance.

Renji stared at the unassuming piece of paper for a long moment before slipping his hand out from under Byakuya’s to retrieve his wallet and deposit the business card. A surreptitious glance through his lowered lashes revealed his superior sitting stock still, posture perfect and unreadable eyes focused many miles away. Renji stilled.

_I wonder where you go when you check out like that. It can’t be coincidence that it started after the poisoning, but I’m damned sure nothing good will come from me pointing that out._

Searching for something to say, Renji slipped the wallet into his jeans’ back pocket before leaning back to stretch.

“Well, he’s a real bucket of sunshine,” the redhead led off, propping his booted feet onto the inspector’s bed. “Surprised they don’t give you an ankle bracelet for house arrest when you leave.”

“Hnn.” Byakuya made a noise of assent as he came back to himself. He reached for his glasses as he extended a hand, palm up, towards Renji. “Your phone, if you please.”

“Ookay,” the tattooed man handed it over without hesitation.

“Is there any instrumental music on this list of yours?”

“Oh, sure,” Renji exhaled as a wave of relief crashed over him, making his spine tingle as he leaned forward. “Sandwiched between the offensive and the ridiculous.”

“There is a difference?” Byakuya wondered as he pored over the list, expression unchanged but tone a bit warmer.

“You bet,” Renji reclaimed the iPhone for a moment, scrolling through several screens of files. “There’s a method to my madness, believe it or not.”

“I shall take your word for it,” the Kuchiki allowed generously as he waited for a piano piece to play out. Unimpressed, he skipped to the next page.

Renji shifted his feet and looked back just in time to see an odd look flicker over the senior detective’s face. In another moment, a bold orchestral piece rang out, and a glimmer of satisfaction overtook the Kuchiki’s delicate features.

“Ah, this will do.” Byakuya met Renji’s gaze and handed the phone back.

“‘Imperial March,’” the redhead murmured as he eyed the screen before snorting. “You really wanna channel Darth Vader?”

“It is preferable to ‘The Dancing Queen,’ at least.” Byakuya picked up his laptop and settled it on his legs, his body language conveying that the matter was concluded.

“The ‘Dark Side,’ it is,” Renji grinned and edited the ring settings, whistling along with the brassy, bombastic tune that fit his beloved’s mood perfectly. “You’re safe from the sap, for now.”

“Mmh.” Byakuya typed for a solid minute before turning back to his colleague. “Oh, Abarai?”

“Yup?”

Renji withdrew his feet from the thin mattress in anticipation of the Kuchiki’s request.

_Back to business as usual, I guess_ , Renji allowed himself a resigned sigh. _I guess we would have to act the ‘professional’ part again at some point. I was just hoping this could go on a little bit longer._

“I must thank you,” Byakuya began, his dark eyes observing Renji as the redhead nearly dropped his phone. “For a moment, I almost forgot where we were.”

“My pleasure, sir,” he murmured after a moment, swallowing to ease his dry throat. “It’s the least I can do.”

Byakuya nodded and returned to typing.

Ignoring the heat rising to his face, Renji propped his feet back up onto the thin, creaking hospital mattress, his elbow but a hair’s breadth from Byakuya’s hip. As he met with no objection, Renji selected another song from the playlist and leaned back as his eyes closed.

If the noble minded the cloying music or the brawny man taking over his bed, he neglected to mention it.

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	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya finally comes home, and Renji gets an idea of where he stands. Beta'd by ichibanseiken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: fluff, explicit bits.

_Compression, Chapter Twenty-Nine_

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“We’ve arrived, sir.”

The voice permeated his dream before truncating it completely. Byakuya startled but remained still but for his eyelids, which lifted with effort as he woke and surveyed the subdued, black leather interior of the antique Bentley. His driver, a middle-aged man in a smart gray chauffer’s uniform, looked in expectantly as he held the car door open.

“Thank you,” Byakuya slid out of the backseat and stood, buttoning his wool coat and readjusting the white silk scarf that fluttered around him in the evening breeze.

_That couldn’t have been more than a fifteen minute car ride_ , Byakuya judged as he blinked away the remaining vestiges of his dream as a valet retrieved a couple of shopping bags from the backseat of the car. _It is a humbling experience to be fatigued by the slightest bit of exertion._

He turned and inclined his head in acknowledgement of the bespectacled, graying majordomo and house staff that came out to greet him, the tightness gripping his throat rendering speech a risky proposition.

_If there is a time and a place for an emotional display, it is not in the driveway of the family estate. I’ve had enough of making a public spectacle of myself._

“It would be best not to linger outside,” Byakuya pronounced in a wry baritone when he found his voice, “unless I am destined to purchase a wing of Ishida-sensei’s hospital for private use.”

The Kuchiki heir cast a quick glance around the faces smooth and weathered alike, heads both black-haired and peppered with silver as a few peals of relieved laughter erupted from the crowd of domestic workers.

“Welcome home, sir,” the stout chief steward kindly interjected, dark eyes twinkling behind wire-rim glasses. The elderly, suit-clad man bowed and made a gesture towards the estate. “Miss Rukia and Abarai-keibu-ho are on the south verandah.”

Byakuya nodded as the group began to disperse, watching as a couple of manservants retrieved his belongings from the Bentley’s trunk and hauled them towards the manor. One of the younger maids hovered nearby with a heavy overcoat, to which the heir shook his head.

“Will you be dining with us this evening, my lord?”

The thought of food stopped the weary detective in his tracks. Byakuya pursed his lips.

“Perhaps some tea before a bath, then?” The butler offered after a minute of silence punctuated only by the wind.

“Yes, Narita-san. That will do,” Byakuya managed as he coaxed his feet into motion. “You have my thanks.”

The graying steward smiled and bowed again before moving ahead and disappearing into the house, a massive structure with all the austerity of a medieval Japanese castle and a few well-integrated modern luxuries hidden within. The slanted, tiled roofs of the main structure and the immaculate raked gravel of the rock gardens were veiled under a blanket of smooth snow. Byakuya allowed himself a contented sigh and approached the manor with slow, deliberate steps, his body still falling short of what his mind demanded. A sense of calm descended, however, as he registered the hushed footfalls of the attendants behind him, their steadfast presence conveying much more than the bags and parcels in their arms.

Byakuya swallowed and picked up the pace.

Seeking distraction, he permitted his slate eyes to shift from the manor as the Bentley began to move. His driver and the sleek black roadster pulled away, heading towards the far parking structure obscured by a row of bare cherry trees. Byakuya spared the nearer garage a glance, noticing that his own coupe was flanked by Rukia’s cobalt Smart car and a hulking mass of steel and chrome that he vaguely registered as belonging to Renji. He stopped, eyeing the tailfins and cherry-red flames adorning the black ’59 Impala as he shook his head.

_Subtle, Abarai. Very subtle._   

His lips quirked upwards and he permitted them, indulging in a small smile as he turned away from the main entrance to pace along the dark wood walkway that encircled the main house. The contrast of the porch underfoot with the white, snowy expanse of the surrounding familial lands was refreshing, as was the soft breeze that stirred his hair and chased the last whispers of sleep away.

_...though the lure of my own bed…or a nearly scalding bath is strong indeed…_

 He spied two figures staring out at the snow-covered Zen garden framed by stands of dormant plum and maple trees, the dark, naked branches a stark contrast against the icy blue layer of powdery flakes. Renji and Rukia sat clad in down coats and snow pants, legs dangling over the porch’s edge and their mittened hands cradling hot cocoa.

Byakuya drew close and observed them for a time in silence. It was only when a maid appeared with a tea tray that his sister and redheaded lieutenant glanced up and flew off the walkway in shock simultaneously.

“Good evening,” Byakuya greeted them in his smoothest baritone, fighting to keep the smile from his face. He accepted a zabuton from the majordomo and sank down into seiza upon the verandah as his valet deposited the shopping bags directly behind him.

“Brother!” Rukia caught her cocoa mug mere moments before it landed in the snow.

Renji, meanwhile, uttered a string of memorable curses as he, too, caught his cup, but not before dousing himself in hot chocolate. “Son-of-a…” The lieutenant trailed off in deference to the elderly butler pouring the Kuchiki’s tea.

“A bit of snow will do wonders for such a stain,” Narita-san supplied helpfully as he accepted the empty mugs from the badly-startled duo, smiling only as he turned away and disappeared with the rest of the servants into the house.

“Aw, fuck,” Renji grumbled as he scooped up a handle of snow in an effort to clean the spatters along his front.

“Renji,” Rukia elbowed him as she regained her composure and settled back onto the walkway, posture ramrod straight and shoulders tense.

“Do not trouble yourselves on my behalf,” the corners of Byakuya’s mouth twitched upward ever so slightly as he basked in the tendrils of fragrant steam rising from the teacup before him. “I apologize for arriving so late. Would you care for some tea?”

Renji manipulated the down jacket for a moment more before tossing the melting snow aside and settling down with a thump. He eyed the teapot. “I could go for some.”

Rukia likewise nodded, petite frame relaxing as she accepted a cup. She waited for her brother to hand tea to Renji before speaking. “Is everything okay?”

“Quite, though keeping to a part-time schedule will be more difficult than I first realized,” Byakuya admitted candidly. “Days filled with meetings seem somehow more grueling than fieldwork.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Renji seconded, raising his teacup in a toast. “You’d think those twerps would keep it short, seeing as you just got released today and all.”

“Renji,” Rukia chimed in with an upbraiding tone, willing him to be silent with her eyes.

“Aw, c’mon, ya said it y-”

Rukia forcefully cleared her throat and glared at her redheaded friend.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, truly, when speaking about some of my relatives,” Byakuya intervened, looking first to his lieutenant, then to his indignant sister, “though such censorship is unnecessary. I can assure you that both myself and my elders have been called worse than ‘twerps’ or…what was it, ‘fatuous gasbags’?”

Rukia clamped a hand over her mouth as Renji snorted into his cup.

“Still,” Renji wondered aloud when he finally stopped snickering, “kinda stinks for them to pounce the instant ya get outta the hospital.”

“They do not _pounce_ , Abarai,” Byakuya corrected with a sigh.

“Just like the paperwork from your cases, family matters requiring action can pile up with time too, Renji,” Rukia added and frowned into her cup. “Such affairs can only be put off for so long.”

The elder Kuchiki pressed his lips together into a disapproving line. _It pains me that you understand our family politics so well, Rukia. You are correct – no matter how I feel, I must present myself as capable and invulnerable to both my extended family and my colleagues, and that entails taking every meeting, listening to every request, no matter how ridiculous or ill-timed._

_I should be grateful that not everyone can read my thoughts._

Byakuya stole a glance at Renji and wondered at the veracity of that sentiment.

“That said,” the inspector decided to steer the conversation in a different direction, “I bear the blame for my tardiness this evening. I had errands to run.”

“Errands?” Renji’s tattooed brow inched upward.

“Indeed.” Byakuya sipped at his tea and set it aside, reaching for a large department store bag behind his back. “As my prior efforts at holiday shopping were thwarted.”

Byakuya retrieved a long, narrow velvet jewelry box held shut by a silver ribbon and handed it to his sister.

“Nii-sama…” Rukia’s eyes went wide as she stared at the box in her lap, then at her brother, then to the gift again.

Electing to simply nod at her, Byakuya pulled a small black box from the bag and extended it to Renji. Surprise and giddiness warred over the lieutenant’s angular features as he plucked the box out of Byakuya’s fine-boned hands.

“Thank you,” Renji murmured as a grin tickled the edges of his lips.

Both men watched as Rukia opened her gift. The petite woman stilled and gasped as an amethyst and diamond pendant with matching tennis bracelet were revealed.

“Oh, Brother!” Rukia blinked back a few happy tears as she surged forward, enveloping the quiet man in a hug.

Byakuya returned the embrace and allowed his eyes to drift shut, though the sound of Renji shucking his mittens soon caught his attention. Byakuya cracked an eye open in time to see Renji chewing on his lower lip, struggling with the tiny bow holding his gift hostage.

“Would you like some help?” Rukia maintained a laudably straight face, relinquishing her brother and turning to watch as her childhood friend was thwarted by an inanimate object.

Renji stuck out his tongue, shredding the ribbon with impatient fingers as he fought his way into the box.

“What is it?”

Rukia’s inquiry went unanswered for a long moment as the redhead stared into the box with widened eyes and a blank expression.

“I always wanted one of these.” After another silent stretch of gazing into the open package, Renji retrieved a large jade pendant and held it up by the leather cord for his companions to see. “It’s an ‘infinity twist.’ A single twist like this, like a figure eight, symbolizes an unending bond between two people…”

Renji bit his lip again as he fastened the thong around his neck. He took a deep breath as he traced the curves of carved stone with his calloused fingers and exhaled as he met his captain’s gaze.

Byakuya returned the affectionate look before turning his attention towards his sister, who glanced between the two men with a dazzled, hopeful grin. She remained quiet, though, not making a sound while Byakuya fastened the clasp of the gleaming chain behind her neck.

“Thank you, Brother,” she unleashed a demure smile and nodded, though her eyes went wide as he extended a department store bag towards her. “Oh, there’s more?”

Rukia delved into the bag and withdrew a sizeable bundle sheathed in white tissue paper. She unwrapped the iridescent, ice-blue silk shawl and pulled it around her shoulders in awed silence. “It’s…beautiful…” she eventually gaped, addressing her sibling in a breathless whisper.

“I hope you find it to your liking,” Byakuya murmured while handing a large, plain paper bag to his lieutenant.

Renji accepted the bag and peered within, rifling through the contents as Rukia closed the sparkling bracelet around her slender wrist. Thankfully, Rukia was too preoccupied with her jewelry to notice as Renji turned several fetching shades of crimson; Byakuya bit his lip as the blush reached Renji’s hairline and set his ears afire.

Renji eventually looked up to meet his captain’s gaze with a crooked grin and a wicked, smoldering look.

  _I imagine he’s blushing nearly as much as I was when I purchased that paraphernalia_ , the stolid inspector decided as he returned his subordinate’s passionate stare, _and he hasn’t even gotten to the card…_

“What’d you get, Renji?” Rukia trailed her fingertips along the slender silver chain around her neck, the jewels shining from within the confines of her winter coat and silken wrap. She sat up and attempted to see within the bag.

“Oh, ya know, guy stuff,” was the best Renji could muster as he swatted her hand away and placed the bag behind him. He leaned back, pinning the bag between his rear and the post behind him as he opened the card, holding it beyond Rukia’s reach. Renji scanned the message and his eyes went wide in amazement.

“Are you okay?” Rukia crept forward again with curiosity.

“Mm-hmm,” Renji turned away and sneezed, taking his time before carefully repositioning himself.  “Thanks, Captain…I owe ya.”

Byakuya took in the redhead’s dilated pupils and his breath stopped short.

_That should clear up any misunderstanding about our sleeping arrangements tonight..._

Renji’s grin widened, tongue swiping over his pointed canines with flourish.

_…though I do hope you’ll wait to act until we’re alone_ , Byakuya’s smirk faded a bit as he entertained second thoughts about his lover’s restraint – or lack thereof.

Rukia coughed politely even as she watched the detectives’ silent ‘conversation’ unfold. “So…”

“I trust that the affairs of the Service Woman’s Association were concluded successfully?” Byakuya interjected before things deteriorated further.

“Why…yes…” Rukia blinked, cheeks coloring as Renji’s face paled. “I…”

“I will lodge no formal protest about such… _assemblies_...at the manor,” Byakuya did his best not to shudder at his own euphemism, “as long as they occur in my absence, and that no evidence remains afterward.”

“I think we disarmed most of Yachiru’s presents for you,” Renji offered when he was next able to speak, tugging at the collar of his coat in discomfort.

“She did leave some cookies for the house staff,” Rukia managed with a weak smile, “but they’re hard to miss with all the pink sprinkles.”

“Very well. They left you mostly unscathed, Abarai?”

“Mostly.” Renji shivered and tucked the card into his coat. “Might need to hit up short stuff’s classmates for some free therapy sessions.”

“Hardly,” Rukia sniffed, “we don’t practice on the hopeless.”

“Hey! If I’m so freakin’ hopeless, then why all the-”

A look from Rukia halted the flow of words from Renji’s mouth; Byakuya responded in kind with an arch of the brow and a glance at his cooling, untouched tea.

“Nevermind,” Renji bit off, though his lip twitched. “Nice shawl, though.”

“Thank you,” Rukia tried for a haughty tone but failed as a broad grin took over her face.

Byakuya lost track of the conversation at that point, the giggles and witty rejoinders fading into the wind rattling through the naked, slumbering trees surrounding the estate. The single moment of repose was enough for the thoughts and intentions of all those nearby to crackle through his consciousness like the static of a poorly tuned wireless radio, a ubiquitous noise that had lingered in the periphery of his hearing  since he woke in the hospital many days earlier. The Kuchiki heir closed his eyes and focused on the churning background noises, picking up on the occasional clear phrase or discernible idea that surfaced in the cacophony and briefly rose above the shifting sounds of the windswept woods.

_At the very least,_ Byakuya shifted on his cushion, _it will be more peaceful here than in the hospital, or at headquarters._ An ache had settled into his joints, and his digits grew more painfully numb with each passing moment in the drafty, frigid night. _Still, it is a marvelous thing to be out of doors, and a few aches and pains will not be the end of me._ Drawing a deep, silent breath, he focused his thoughts and suppressed the noise that pressed in on him from all sides, heeding only the rustling branches and gregarious voices in his immediate vicinity.

“Are…are you okay, Nii-sama?”

Byakuya blinked, having been caught with his eyes closed.

“Fine,” he mustered as a wave of fatigue crashed over him. “Though perhaps I ought to retire for the evening, with your pardon.”

“Please, let me-” Rukia paused, holding her breath as her brother gradually rose to his full height.

Renji, meanwhile, balled his fists in his lap.

Byakuya turned to go, looking back over his shoulder. “I wish both of you a good night.” He glided off, grateful beyond words that his stiff legs bore his weight without wavering.

Moments later he crossed the threshold to the master bedroom, scarcely aware of having traded his coat and oxfords for a robe and house slippers. Byakuya closed his eyes again and tried to remain awake as his valet helped him change into pajamas and slipped away without a word. The Kuchiki heir stood stock still and inhaled deeply, the reality of his homecoming finally sinking in as the familiar scents of pine, incense and clean linen wafted across his senses.

It was the promise of a hot bath that pried his heavy lids open; Byakuya forced himself back into motion, turning to take in his room with a weary, if thankful, heart. It was then that he noticed a familiar, weathered duffel bag on the floor, just inside the doorframe.

_Renji._

He frowned at the tentative, awkward position of the redhead’s overnight bag in the oversized room.

_Best to dispel any misconceptions right away._

Byakuya bent to retrieve the deceptively light luggage, pausing only for a moment before depositing it in the center of his bed.

Surveying his work with a satisfied nod, Byakuya spun on his heel and went off in search of his bath.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Renji stood at the foot of the enormous platform bed, wearing only a frown, his new jade pendant, and his favorite pair of black silk boxers.

Fanning away perspiration due partly to nerves and partly to the sweltering temperatures in the master bedroom, his eyes shifted restlessly between the left and right pillow. Though the linens freshly changed and pillows fluffed to perfection, the near-empty nightstand on the left made it clear which side of the bed saw little use.

_Still,_ he scratched his stubbly chin, _seems rude to just mosey into what must have been…_

“Aw, fuck it.”

Renji flopped crosswise on the bed, his six-foot-two frame stretching to occupy the entire width of the mattress. He slid his long, red braid over his shoulder and surveyed his elegantly appointed surroundings as he sank into the memory foam, exhaling in delight.

“Ohh, baby…” Rolling onto his back, he squinted at the tidy stack of journals on the dark-stained nightstand to the right. Renji snatched the first magazine his fingers grazed and the reading glasses perched atop.

_Ain’t exactly light bedtime readin,’ but it’ll do._  

He pushed his captain’s wire-framed glasses up his nose, continuing to squint despite the added magnification, as he scoured the title of contents of Byakuya’s erudite forensics journal.

“On the other hand,” Renji murmured while flipping through glossy pages of fine print, “I won’t have any trouble fallin’ asleep. How the hell does he get through these?”

After another squint at the tiny print that filled the page, Renji looked to the far nightstand and blinked at the clock.

_Could he have fallen asleep in the bath? Hell, he practically passed out into his tea._ Renji huffed and scratched his thigh just below the seam of his undergarment. _Not that he’d admit it, or let anybody help him, or take it easy at all, damned stubborn man._

“Grrah,” Renji grumbled, bracing himself on an elbow as he stretched and shook out his legs. “Snowshoes are freakin’ torture devices, don’t care what she says!”

The door slid open.

A dark shadow flitted into the room without a sound. By the time Renji peered over the top of the borrowed reading glasses, the door was shut and the shadow was looking him over.

“You fell asleep in there, didn’t you?” Renji shook off his gruff affect with a grin as he set Byakuya’s glasses to the side.

“Nonsense,” Byakuya countered in a smoky baritone as he shook damp hair away from his face. “It simply took time for me to warm up.”

“Right.” Renji’s eyelids drooped, dubious, as he directed a thumb toward the sunken hearth nearby. “Ya shoulda just stayed here, it’s like a million degrees.”

Byakuya arched an eyebrow at that and drew the collar of his robe closed.

It was then that Renji registered his captain’s attire, an ensemble consisting of a thick flannel robe over silk pajamas and house slippers to boot. While he posited that the Kuchiki might still be cold, the patrician’s flushed cheeks suggested otherwise.

“Why’re you fully dressed all the time?” Renji wondered aloud, relinquishing the magazine and propping up his chin on a palm.

Byakuya titled his head slightly. “I would ask you the converse, though I appreciate your penchant for being scantily clad.”

Renji grinned, though his face fell when he noticed the green and purple bruises that besmirched the few remaining areas of Byakuya’s uncovered skin.

“Shit.” Renji winced in realization and heaved himself up from the huge bed with a grunt.

“Excuse me?” Byakuya’s eyebrow twitched as the redhead stalked over to stand right in front of him.

“Nevermind.” Renji stepped in and brushed his lips against his captain’s. “I’d like to unwrap my other present now.”

“Mmh.” Byakuya brushed an errant strand of hair out of Renji’s eyes before resting his palms against the lieutenant’s bare chest. “I take it my preceding gifts were not to your liking?”

“You kidding? They’re perfect!” Renji exclaimed, fingertips tracing the jade pendant with reverence.

_This is practically an engagement ring,_ he beamed and patted the cool stone. _I’ll go to my grave before I take this off._

“Besides, you can be _damned_ sure we’re gonna try each and every item in that little goody bag,” Renji pressed the other man’s hips into the wall as he kissed his nose, “though I doubt you could handle even half of them tonight.”

“Perhaps not.” Byakuya wrapped his hands around Renji’s narrow waist and kissed him, tugging at the redhead’s plump bottom lip with his teeth. “Do not discount me entirely, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain,” Renji mumbled against his superior’s mouth as he began to unfasten Byakuya’s belt. “With permission…?”

“Granted.” Byakuya hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Renji’s boxers to help the garment on its way to the floor. He ran his hands over the redhead’s back, smoothing over the taut muscles of his buttocks and thighs. 

Renji groaned as the exploring hands started to squeeze and trace the seldom-seen portion of his tattoos. He fumbled with the tie that held the Kuchiki’s robe closed, unraveling the bow and shoving the outer layer off the captain’s shoulders. He eyed the many buttons standing between him and the disposal of Byakuya’s pajamas and decided to change tactics. Renji slipped away from the warm, temping mouth and latched onto Byakuya’s neck with his teeth, fingers tracing silk-clad collar bones before starting a slow slide south. He swiped his thumbs over hardening nipples and sucked his way down the exposed column of throat, peppering the pale skin with a few new bruises. A sharp intake of breath and a hand tightening on his hip were his reward; Renji grinned and slid down Byakuya’s body as he dropped to his knees.

“Renji.” Byakuya braced himself against the wall with one hand while the other carded through the unraveling strands of Renji’s braid.

“Mmh?” Renji nuzzled his nose against the thin layers of silk before him. He hummed, teasing the tender flesh beneath and pleased by the results.

“I…” Byakuya’s whisper trailed off into a gasp.

Renji ran his hands up Byakuya’s sinewy, pajama-clad legs and gripped his hips, anchoring the inspector to the wall and mouthing the other man’s firming length. The pale green silk was damp from his breath and grew tauter by the second.

“Renji, I…” Byakuya tried again, struggling to form the words. “…I…won’t last…”

The tattooed lieutenant smirked, though the way the aristocrat’s thighs quivered gave him pause. Renji looked up as a cool, clammy hand came to rest on his shoulder. The grip on his deltoid and the hand snaking along the paneled wall, seeking purchase revealed what the Kuchiki’s impassive gray gaze would not, and Renji forced himself to breathe as he sat back on his heels.

He looked at the polished wood floor, the discarded clothing and the reflection of his bobbing arousal making for a bizarre tableau. The cream-colored house slippers hiding his lover’s feet drew his attention next, his hands following automatically.

“I’ll take that,” Renji announced as he seized a fine ankle and tossed the slipper aside. The firm hold on his shoulder shifted but did not release, and he took the liberty of removing the other shoe.

“…and those,” he reached up to tug at Byakuya’s pants, easing the fabric over slim hips and rosy erection to pool around the man’s perfect feet. Renji looked up again to find Byakuya watching him with heavy-lidded eyes and a thinly-veiled effort to control his ragged breathing.

Renji grinned, sharp teeth flashing as he stood. He waited for Byakuya to step out of the clothes pile before tugging him away from the wall by the collar of his shirt. He steered him back towards the bed by lapels alone, invading Byakuya’s mouth while leading the willowy man along, stopping only when the Kuchiki’s calves touched the bedframe. The redhead made a token effort at unbuttoning his captain’s top before issuing his next order.

“Arms up.” Renji slipped his hands under the silk shirt, caressing his way up from thigh to ribcage as he shifted the garment up and over Byakuya’s head and flung it behind him. Moving forward, he eased Byakuya back onto the expanse of pillows and bedclothes to perch over him on all fours, pinning the slighter man’s wrists overhead with a single, powerful hand.

“Mind if I take it from here?”

Byakuya gave a quick, unequivocal shake of the head, inky hair scattering over the charcoal bedspread.

Renji released his wrists and hummed, stealing a kiss before trailing his lips down the other’s body. He acknowledged the fading bruises over Byakuya’s chest with a host of whisper-soft kisses, the train-track, well-healed scars along the sternum with a long lick. Renji’s broad, calloused thumbs traced circles over the splotches of blue and green coloring the nobleman’s wrists as his tongue the outlined the shiny, pale starburst of the gunshot wound in frightful proximity to Byakuya’s heart.

Byakuya let his head loll back, and his exhalations lengthened out from the short, clipped gasps of the moments before. Renji, too, relaxed a bit, suckling a nipple while allowing his erection to trail along his superior’s inner thigh.

_There is nothing you need to hide from me._

Renji pressed a kiss to the scarred sternum before shifting and trapping the other dusky, pebbled peak between his teeth. His thick fingers wandered from Byakuya’s arm and shoulder down to his ribs, trying to gauge the status of the healing bones beneath. Eyeing the supplies that he’d deposited discretely behind the stack of journals, then the rare look of relaxation on his lover’s face, he mulled over his options again.

He hadn’t been lost in thought for too long when Byakuya’s fingertips began to trace his brow, cheekbones, and parted lips. Byakuya was watching him, the light from the nearby antique reading lamp making his dark, curious eyes sparkle.

“Watch it,” Renji gruffed and nipped the fingers teasing his mouth.

Mischief curled up the corner of Byakuya’s lips. “Was I supposed to ask permission?”

“Maybe.” Renji sucked a wiry index finger into his mouth, curling his tongue around it before releasing the digit with a _pop!_ “Roll onto your side.”

Amused, Byakuya complied and pillowed his head on his arm. Renji reached past him for the nightstand, passing over the box of condoms for the bottle of viscous fluid just beyond.  He poured a generous amount onto his palm and lay down behind his captain, rubbing his hands together vigorously.

“Just warming it up,” Renji explained as he scooted forward, pressing his chest to Byakuya’s back as he snaked a tattooed arm around him. “Stay still and let me do the work.”

Byakuya turned his head at that. He graciously allowed Renji to steal the words on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes widened as something warm and slick prodded his backside.

“Relax. It isn’t what you think,” Renji mumbled against Byakuya’s mouth as he adjusted himself and nestled his throbbing erection at a shallow angle between the globes of the Kuchiki’s bottom, the head nudging at the perineum. He slid a slippery hand over Byakuya’s hip and stroked his arousal gently. “Just relax.”

“Very…well…” Byakuya allowed himself to be pulled back by the hot palm pressing against his breastbone. His breath escaped in ragged, syncopated pants, no doubt because of the fingers twisting his nipple, or the rough digit that traced the underside of his length and then circled the head, or perhaps the way Renji began grinding against him.

_Well, something’s working,_ Renji decided and found a patch of skin behind his superior’s ear that warranted further attention. He continued to press, to tease, to writhe against a silent Byakuya until the Kuchiki began to press back against him, breath growing shallow in warning as he clutched at Renji’s thigh.

“Byakuya,” he growled into a pink-tinged ear and began to thrust in earnest. Renji pumped his captain faster, not relenting until the Kuchiki stiffened and failed to stifle a gasp.

_Oh, Gawd._

The barely-there sound did him in, sending his head spinning as he climaxed with a raw, guttural groan. It took Renji more than a minute to find his bearings and catch his breath. He looked down at a tousled Byakuya, whose glazed eyes were half-closed but aimed in his general direction, and Renji couldn’t help but smile.

Renji pressed a kiss to his temple and reached over him again, conjuring a washcloth and cleaning them up before maneuvering their bodies beneath the covers with the least movement required. He wrapped his arms around Byakuya, whose soft skin remained aglow with unusual warmth. The Kuchiki’s heart continued to pound beneath his languid demeanor, however; Renji kept his hand over the other’s breast for several silent moments, lulled into stillness by the steady, gradually slowing rhythm.

“Renji, if I may?”

“Hmm?”

Byakuya shifted his hips enough that Renji got the hint and loosened his grip. He raked the crimson frizz from his forehead as Byakuya turned to face him, though he couldn’t quite hide his surprise as the senior detective settled back into the circle of his arms. Byakuya nestled his face against Renji’s muscular neck and sighed while he traced the redhead’s exposed shoulder with an intrepid index finger.

“You all right?” Renji’s throaty query echoed more than he expected in the large room.

“Yes,” Byakuya murmured, fingers following the inked trail from clavicle to the sleek green stone at Renji’s neck. “I am better than all right, I think.”

“Good.” Renji smiled helplessly, watching the questing fingers and dark eyes mesmerized by the jade figure-eight resting on his chest. “You’re gonna say something sappy now, aren’t you?”

“Hardly.” A thin, elegant brow arched in an instant. “I am simply pleased by how much this pendant suits you.”

“Yeah,” Renji pressed his chin to his chest to give the necklace another once-over. “I love it.”

_I love you, too,_ the lieutenant decided as he leaned forward to bestow a gentle kiss on Byakuya’s achingly soft lips. _One of these days, I’ll even have the guts to tell you._

It might have been a trick of the low light, or a quirk of his sated brain, but Renji could have sworn he saw the stoic Kuchiki _actually smile_ as they parted. He had no time to confirm his suspicions, though, as Byakuya extinguished the light and curled around him. Renji grinned again as a lithe arm snaked around his waist and a warm puff of breath danced across his neck.

The humongous, dark room grew so silent that Renji’s ears began to hum with the flow of blood through his veins. He allowed himself a contented sigh and began to compose a rambling, wordless prayer of thanks to any and every deity within earshot, though he let an expletive slip when Byakuya suddenly stirred in his arms.

“Renji, did you know…?” A sleepy voice mumbled into the sensitive skin of his throat, “…it is…quiet…when you are with me…”

“What was that, Sleepyhead?” Renji chuckled and tried to kiss him, but Byakuya was already fast asleep. He laughed again and rested his chin on a pile of sleek, still-damp hair. “I’m one of the loudest people I know.”

A bit mystified but mostly sleepy, Renji closed his eyes and fully relaxed for the first time in weeks.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya returns to work and gets and receives an unusual offer from Kenpachi; Renji, meanwhile, is on his best behavior while teamed with Izuru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This represents a brand-spanking-new chapter and the end of the crossposts. All mistakes are mine; the characters, unfortunately, are not.

_Compression, Chapter Thirty_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Hey, Twiggy, you’re gettin’ pretty good at runnin’ in place.”

“Zaraki-keibu,” exhaled Byakuya in what could have been mistaken for a resigned sigh, “are you lost, or have you cultivated a new way to avoid working during office hours?”

“Speakin’ a work, why the hell are you here?” Kenpachi leaned on the lone water cooler within the dilapidated basement gym and looked over his shoulder at the wall clock.

“I was not aware that I required your permission to use this facility,” the homicide detective continued to run on the ancient treadmill at what would have been an easy pace before his illness; as it was, he struggled to speak in complete sentences rather than pant. Though most of his hair was swept back into a ponytail, a stray, sweaty lock had plastered itself to the side of his face and resisted his attempts to tuck it behind his ear. His high-end, black exercise gear still appeared immaculate despite the perspiration saturating the technical cloth.

“I’m talkin’ bout your chaperone, Princess, or lack thereof.”

“Big brother is watching,” Byakuya indicated the black, spherical security camera nestled between the stained drop-tiles of the headquarters’ workout room.  “I would hope that being in direct line-of-sight would be adequate.”

“Hmm.” Zaraki stretched his impossibly long arms overhead and tilted his head from side to side to crack his neck. He tugged to loosen his skull-and-crossbones silk tie ever so slightly. “You’re gonna have to start lifting if you really wanna bulk up.”

The Kuchiki began to speak then thought better of it, deciding to adjust the incline of the treadmill instead. Kenpachi watched him for a moment, then surveyed the mirror-lined walls and the rows of weights and sundry machines in the dank, gray-carpeted room, his golden eyes settling on the staticky television in the far corner.

“You’ve gotta be bored outta your fuckin’ mind.”

Byakuya found himself agreeing with the S.W.A.T. captain for the first time in recent memory.

“And what of it?” While the Kuchiki could endure meetings and vanquish clerical tasks with unparalleled skill, were it not for his supervision of his homicide officers –albeit at a distance – his days would be almost impossibly dull.

_Though it is only for another two weeks; I have endured much worse, for much longer…_

“Depends,” Kenpachi broke through his thoughts with a gravelly voice and a craggy grin. “Wanna come play?”

“Play?” Byakuya began to perspire more heavily as he mouthed the word, so he reduced the incline even further.

“That is, if you can go for more than a few minutes without bein’ all bitchy,” the square-jawed Zaraki clarified with a cackle. “We’ve got fresh meat from the Academy startin’ this week that we’ll be breakin’ in with drills, but we’ve got room for another noob.”

The inspector could not contain his surprise; it was only his preternatural poise that kept him from breaking stride. “You want me to…?”

“Look, we’re spread thin on both shifts even with the part-time guys,” Kenpachi sighed in disgust. “Having someone on the course that doesn’t need their hand held and that could double as a range instructor would be a big help. You could even play fill-in sniper, which would give me some more options the next time some asshole goes gunnin’ for cops, if you know what I mean.”

“I see.” Byakuya considered the offer. The lure of time outdoors – even in the dead of winter – had its appeal. “This meets with the approval of the other instructors, and your men?”

“It ain’t theirs to give,” the S.W.A.T. commander growled and glared at the bubbles that gurgled up through the water cooler. “Though they’re just as curious as anybody about the psychic fruit that Aizen tried to off.”

“Lovely,” the blue blood dabbed at the perspiration on his brow.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, geez. You stay the department meeting bitch, fine, but if you wanna get off your ass and be ready for active duty, don’t blow this off.”

“I am not blowing anything off,” Byakuya countered as he jogged. “I am, however, questioning my sanity for seriously entertaining your proposal.”

“Cute.  It shouldn’t put you over part-time hours, and I won’t be the one to narc on you if it does. You may outrank the rugrats, but you’ll take orders from me and try to steer clear of the trippy shit when we’re on a call,” Zaraki smirked in challenge.

“Hmm.” The belt of the treadmill decelerated automatically as the allotted time elapsed and Byakuya slowed to a walk, taking a moment to sip from his water bottle. “You’ve cleared this with Administration?”

“More or less. It’d look bad if you died from boredom, after all,” Kenpachi grinned and paced toward his fellow captain. “Though if you’d rather keep sneakin’ around like a teeny bopper breakin’ curfew, though, that’s up to you.”

“This scheme sounds like something Kyouraku-keishi-chō would agree to,” the Kuchiki rolled his eyes and brought the treadmill to a stop. “I will do it, of course, but I am curious; whose idea was this?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I would not have asked otherwise, Zaraki.” Byakuya pulled his ankle back into a stretch.

“Retsu brought it up,” Kenpachi offered and unleashed a manic grin as the inspector’s eyes widened. “She thought some fieldwork might perk ya up a bit.”

“Before the Grand Inquisition,” Byakuya murmured not quite under his breath, switching legs.

“Don’t I know it,” Zaraki chuckled in commiseration. “She Who Must Be Obeyed isn’t the type to build someone up just to rip ‘em down again. Usually.”

“That is an enormous comfort,” deadpanned Byakuya as he bent to stretch out his hamstrings.

“Take what you can get, Cupcake.” The taller captain shrugged his blazer-clad shoulders. “Hey, Urahara wants to see you later. Turn your fuckin’ phone on.”

“It is on. There is simply no signal in this dungeon,” the Kuchiki explained to an empty room as Zaraki had already fled the premises. Byakuya sighed and took another drink of water. “Not that I mind.”

Glancing around to confirm that he was, indeed, alone, Byakuya straightened and lifted his arms overhead, lacing his fingers together just above his ponytail as he finally caught his breath.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

He thought he would resent whoever next occupied the large, seldom used desk opposite him, but Kira-keibu-ho found himself too engrossed in observing his colleague to mind much.

A bronze-skinned, extensively tattooed muscular man sat working diligently before him, his vibrant red hair smoothed back into a low ponytail and zebra-print tie miraculously still in place. Though once infamous for boorish behavior and a workstation epitomizing entropy, Renji now worked quietly on his new laptop, a bottle of water and a single neat stack of papers flanking his computer. Not once had his booted feet come to rest on the desk; if anything, Izuru judged, his fellow lieutenant was going out of his way to throw himself into his work and to minimize his incursion into a foreign workspace.

“Hey, Izuru, want some tea?” Renji asked as he stood.

“Sure,” Kira nodded and eyed the clock. “Right on the dot.”

“Hmm?”

“You make tea every day at three,” Izuru observed in an even tone as he turned to watch his friend open the door.

“Yeah, guess so,” Renji tugged at his collar absently. “Some habits are hard to break. You care what kind?”

“Not really. Whatever you want is fine.”

“Right-o,” Abarai-keibu-ho disappeared into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

Izuru looked back to the bright screen before him and drummed his fingers on his desk, his seafoam green shirt and light gray jacket making for a subdued reflection via his computer. After assessing his own appearance he let his eyes shift to the former Ichimaru-keibu’s work area out of habit, though his thoughts were with his friend making tea in the break room.

_Of our Academy graduating class, Renji’s still the one that surprises me most. Smart money was on him and his captain killing each other, not…_

He sighed and tried to focus on the task at hand, having scanned the completed fields of his report for the twentieth time before noticing his e-mail alert. Kira clicked on the message.

“He got it done already?” Kira Izuru wondered aloud as he perused Renji’s report. “I’ll be damned.”

The quiet blond detective shook his head, warding off further distraction and turning his attention back to his own file. He sat typing with singular focus until a cup of steaming amber tea came to rest by his elbow.

“You got my file?” Renji asked as he pulled out his chair, making an effort not to scrape the legs along the already-scuffed tiled floor.

“Yeah. Since when do you finish your reports that quickly?” Izuru sniffed at the swirling tendrils of vapor coming up from the cup and raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“Since I found out they’re easier to do when they’re still fresh in my head. Trying to summarize an investigation way after the fact is murder,” Renji declared and smoothed his tie. “No pun intended.”

Kira looked up at him but said nothing.

“That, and if I do ‘em as I go, it’s less for Captain to have to trudge through at the end of the week,” Renji clarified, though he avoided eye contact. “Last thing I wanna do is pile more scut onto his plate.”

“Ah.” Izuru didn’t move a muscle, but it didn’t stop Renji’s face from flushing slightly.

“Shut it,” Renji grumbled, tugging at his collar before he could stop himself.

“It’s okay, man,” Kira brushed a wayward strand of pale hair out of his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make your captain happy.”

“I know. I just didn’t wanna rub it in,” the tall, tattooed lieutenant admitted and picked up his tea.

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuru assured him as he ignored the unpleasant twist of his stomach. “As long as we’re both sober, there won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Renji paused. “I still don’t remember most of what I said.”

“Me neither. Probably for the best,” Kira decided and toasted his colleague, raising his cup of tea. “Don’t think anything was caught on video, at least nothing that Shuuhei told me about.”

Discomfort flitted across Renji’s sharp, tattooed features momentarily. Izuru opened his mouth to speak, but a strange noise erupted from his companion’s cellphone that startled both men.

“What’s that, a laser gun?” Kira ventured, curiosity piqued.

“Um, yeah, a death ray,” Renji explained as even more color found its way to his angular cheekbones.

“Sounds like it’s straight out of Star Wars,” Izuru continued, sipping his tea.

“It is.” Renji honed in on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen. “Variation on a theme.”

“Of all the text alerts you get,” Kira went on with his carefully worded statement, “that’s the only one that you answer immediately, with any consistency.”

“Is that so?” Renji completed the text message before looking up at his inquisitor. “I think you’re fishing, Detective.”

“Or maybe I’m just being observant, Detective,” Kira tried to keep a straight face, though his lip curled up mutinously. “You’ve got it pretty bad.”

“Thppt,” lacking a wittier reply, Renji blew a raspberry at his friend.

“Nice comeback,” Izuru couldn’t fend off a smug grin as his eyes drifted back towards his computer screen.

Lieutenant Abarai, however, was saved from further interrogation as the unmistakable sound of a cracking whip blared out of his phone’s speakers.

“Do I even want to know?” Izuru gazed at him with wide eyes.

“No.” Renji seemed equally perturbed as he surveyed the new message. “Seriously. The less you know about it, the better.”

The tall, redheaded man stood and tugged at his tie. “I gotta run to Admin real fast. If I’m not back in an hour, send some a’ the S.W.A.T. guys in after me, okay?”

“Seriously?” Kira arched an eyebrow at him. “Who’d you piss off?”

“It’s so much weirder than that,” Renji loosed a rueful sigh as his fingertips brushed the doorknob. He looked Izuru right in the eye. “Don’t go anywhere near the S.W.A. unless you’ve been trained in hostage negotiations, dude.”

“O-kay…”

Kira exhaled, imagination whirring at high speed for a minute or two until a knock came on his just-closed door. The thin, blond detective moved to the threshold, only to find a familiar young man sporting a bowl cut and a forest green jumpsuit on the far side of the frosted glass door.

“Delivery for you, sir. Will you sign here?”

Izuru cast a quick glance at the bright floral arrangement in the uniformed deliveryman’s arms and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves before accepting the pen and clipboard. He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page and accepted the flowers with a wary expression.

“Another one?” Kira found a space on his desk and set the large glass vase down.

“Looks like it,” the young man from the florist’s shop shrugged before bowing and making his exit. “We’ll have the order and payment information sent over shortly, per your previous request. Have a good day, sir.”

The deliveryman’s departure left Izuru alone with the garish arrangement of lemon yellow and deep orange marigolds with a sprinkling of dried persimmons for good measure.* He sighed again and leaned against his desk, crossing his arms and glaring at his former captain’s desk.

Kira closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Great. The real question is, who do I call first?”

No answer came, so he settled for a compromise as he pulled out his cellphone. Izuru snapped a photo and composed a quick message to accompany the image:

_Kira: Hey, Rangiku. Get over here if you want to see it before forensics shows up._

Scratching an eyebrow and brushing back his bangs, he took a deep breath as he dialed the crime scene investigative team.

“Hi, it’s Kira-keibu-ho. I’ve got a delivery you guys are going to want to take a look at.”

**:*:*:**

***** Marigold is the company flower for Squad Three in the manga, and persimmons Ichimaru-taichou’s favorite food.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_To be continued…soon. This chapter seems awfully short, especially given the last couple of offerings, but the next one is a monster and will make up for it._


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya seeks out Urahara in the morgue and fills in a few details about the banquet scene in the abandoned warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So. Yeah. This chapter is something of a brain dump, and would have been better [in my mind, anyway] if I could have managed it with Japanese folklore instead. Just squint, tilt your head and pretend that it works, okay?

_Compression, Chapter Thirty-One_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

Byakuya paused in front of a door, etched glass and dark wood falling under his shadow as he lifted his hand to knock.

“It’s open!” A cheerful voice crooned from the room beyond.

He grasped the knob but paused as he eyed the handcrafted placard affixed to the lintel overhead:

_“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”_

Though not fluent in Italian, Byakuya recognized the quotation just the same and rolled his eyes as he opened the door.

_‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’? I think it better suited to the interrogation room than the morgue_ , he mused as he nudged the door until it latched behind him. _Though I suppose there is no accounting for taste._

“Welcome to my lair, bwah-hah-ha!” Urahara Kisuke leaned back in his chair to toss a wide grin over his shoulder. “Lunch just arrived, courtesy of my gorgeous wife.”

Byakuya deflected the medical examiner’s enthusiasm with a nod and took a moment to survey the remainder of the low-ceilinged space, noting the polished paneling and built-in hardwood bookshelves effectively camouflaged by tall stacks of files and partially assembled gadgets. Clutter aside, the décor of the organic, well-appointed space stood in stark contrast to the remainder of the sterile, fluorescent-lit morgue. 

“I am aware. She accosted me in the hallway.”

“‘Accost’ is such a strong word for one woman in a white pantsuit, eh?”

Kisuke pushed away from his computer as he waggled his brows. The men regarded one another silently.

“Or not,” they said in unison.

Urahara shook his head and blinked as the detective moved a crate aside to claim a chair, the wheels of which spun silently over the black and white marble floor tiles. He kept one eye on his companion as he delved into a large paper bag by his keyboard.

“We’ve got lettuce wraps, cucumber salad,” Urahara ticked off as he set each takeout container on his already-full desk, “seafood stew for me, and something Yoruichi thought was perfect for you…”

Byakuya accepted the box from Kisuke’s outstretched hands and narrowed his eyes at the words scrawled along the lid in thick, red marker. “Evil Jungle Prince,” he enunciated, unimpressed.

The blond pathologist snorted, unable to keep his lips from twitching.

“Extra spicy?” The Kuchiki peered into the container.

“God, I hope so,” Kisuke extended a pair of chopsticks as a peace offering. “Mind if we work while we eat?”

“Not at all.” Unfolding a paper napkin to cover his lap, Byakuya let his gaze drift upward to the magnified image of a white blossom on the computer monitor. “I understand there’s been another delivery just this morning?”

“Yep,” Kisuke likewise tucked a napkin into the neck of his green scrub top. “No points for creativity, though – just marigolds and persimmons. Pretty gauche, using fall colors in January.”

The Kuchiki rolled his eyes.

“Kira seems to be taking it in stride, though,” Urahara went on undaunted as he inspected the translucent roll of a lettuce wrap closely. “Oh, Akon says that a parcel showed up for you, too, and that they’ll have in checked out in a little bit.”

“Lovely,” Byakuya nearly sighed as he glanced at the digital image of a chrysanthemum on the monitor. “It seems that no department is to be spared from such nuisances.”

Urahara was halfway through the appetizers when he glanced over his shoulder. Byakuya sat motionless, a piece of broccoli held perched before his lips.

“The package left on my desk after the break in,” the suit-clad Homicide chief murmured as he stirred himself back into action, eyeing the food between his chopsticks. “I was never informed of the contents.”

“Oh, this you’ll like,” Urahara managed around a mouthful as he opened another file on his computer. He minimized the floral display only to bring up an image of two juxtaposed bullets. “You remember the Glock stolen from evidence before being used in the execution of the four John Does in the tenement murders, the one that was M.I.A.?”

“Of course,” Byakuya uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, more out of surprise than for better visualization, given the magnification of the spent casings on the screen.

“Someone sent you the murder weapon as a Christmas present, I think, buried in a sea of foam peanuts.”

“Ah. How macabre,” the Kuchiki surmised as he eyed the ballistics report flanking the bullets in the display, nibbling deliberately on a tofu square.

“Yeah,” Kisuke agreed, wincing and shaking his head, “all of these creepy trinkets and ‘Flowers Gone Wild’ kinda make me long for the good ol’ days of straightforward corpses and ransom notes, you know?”

Byakuya shrugged, unwilling to speak with his mouth full.

“Lucky for you, we’ve sorted through most of the flora already. We can just get on to the envelopes and other assorted tchotchkes, if you like.” Urahara dumped a bowlful of rice into the tall, Styrofoam canister of soup.

“Very well,” the Kuchiki acquiesced between bites. “I understand you absconded with some of the evidence?”

“I would _never_ , Detective,” Kisuke grinned, popping another wrap into his mouth, unconcerned by the spot of peanut sauce that remained on the corner of his mouth. “I might have been rudely interrupted while processing a crime scene, however. You never know where things end up when routine gets shot to hell.”

Byakuya arched an eyebrow as he closed the takeout box perched on his suit-clad knees. He watched as Urahara opened a number of new files with one hand as he shoveled more food into his mouth with the other. Several silent minutes passed before the medical examiner turned to look at the silent homicide detective again.

“Done already?” Kisuke drained the last of the stew from the container and dabbed at his face with his napkin.

“Without a doubt,” Byakuya replied without hesitation. He took in the mess, edible and otherwise, that encroached upon the medical examiner’s desk and had to restrain himself from surging forward to declutter the area at top speed. He took a deep breath. “If I might package up what remains?”

“Um, sure,” the blond eyed him with a crooked smile. “Though there are lots of remains to be had in these parts.”

Closing his eyes and refusing to groan at the other’s attempt at humor, Byakuya stood and gathered the many, partially plundered containers and somehow managed to fit them all into the tiny refrigerator along the back wall of the paneled room. There were a number of bottles, tubes and flasks with colorful contents already within the appliance, and he did his best not to look too closely at any of them.

“None of ‘em will bite,” Kisuke called out over his shoulder.

“I am not so sure,” Byakuya murmured as he closed the refrigerator door and backed away a bit warily. He scanned the nearby countertop for a clean tea service, and finding none, moved back to the series of oversized computer screens at the epicenter of Urahara’s office. The Kuchiki blinked once as he took in the photographs on the screen, then sat down. “The photographs were taken before the scene was disturbed?”

“Okay, now you’re hurting my feelings,” Kisuke sniffed as he maximized the photos of the banquet set within the walk-in refrigeration unit. “Yes, these pics are the real deal, provided that Shinji, Hiyori and Kenpachi didn’t go around licking the china or anything.”

The quiet Kuchiki closed his eyes and shook his head in an effort not to visualize Urahara’s speculation.

“Item the first, Inspector,” Kisuke pilfered through a cardboard box and handed him a thick, ivory envelope within a plastic evidence bag.

Byakuya accepted the evidence and analyzed the handwriting on the embossed paper with an appreciative eye. “These are the brushstrokes of a master calligrapher...which look familiar.”

The blond watched him without expression.

“The handwriting appears much like that from the department’s holiday party invitations this last year,” Kuchiki-keibu decided with a tilt of his head.

“Bingo,” Urahara agreed with a broad grin. “Took our forensic document examiners a bit longer to figure that out, by the by.”

“Hmm,” Byakuya frowned. “You took the envelope addressed to Agent Hirako. Why?”

“Shinji was the only federal agent invited to the creep show,” Urahara explained with a shrug. “I figured making his card disappear would be less conspicuous than any of the other options.”

“What of Kurosaki Ichigo?”

“Yeah, granted he’s not law enforcement,” Kisuke looked at the detective through his bangs, “but Aizen’s hang-up with Kurosaki-san is pretty well known, and it made the rearranging of the other envelopes easier.”

“Oh?” Byakuya returned his gaze with an expression of cool disinterest.

Urahara zoomed in on the place setting before the scarlet chaise lounge, the names on both ornate envelopes clearly visible against the background of a fine china plate:

_Kurosaki Ichigo._

_Kuchiki Byakuya._

The Kuchiki heir did not react at all, as he was not surprised.

“I moved your envelope to Shinji’s empty plate, as I figured you’d be under enough scrutiny as is,” Kisuke explained after a long moment.

“Mmh.” _A logical choice, if not the most scrupulous one._

“Moving on,” Urahara chirped after receiving no further reply, “wanna play Karnak1?”

“I will not be holding anything to my forehead,” Byakuya arched an eyebrow but nevertheless turned his attention back to the resealed envelope in his hand. He blinked. “This contains a Giclée print of a late 19th Century woodcut portraying the Titan Epimetheus.”

Urahara lifted his brows briefly, though the glint in his gray eyes seemed, to Byakuya, more appraising than surprised.

“This illustration is from an encyclopedia of classical gods and heroes…which Aizen Sosuke happened to have a first edition copy of in his office,” Byakuya continued without inflection. “It would seem that this perpetrator has a sense of humor.”

“And a real penchant for interior decorating,” Urahara rolled his eyes. “What’s so funny about it?”

“Epimetheus, brother of the better-known Prometheus, embodied excuses and afterthought.”

“Ouch,” Kisuke chuckled despite himself. “I’m assuming that’s a dig at Shinji for having trained Aizen as his replacement, only to get stabbed in the back?”

“I believe that interpretation to be correct.”

“Well, you passed the entrance exam with flying colors and then some,” Urahara rested his chin on an upturned palm and drummed his fingers over his cheekbone. “Guess this’ll end up being more entertaining than I’d originally thought.”

“You were expecting variations expounding on ‘The Last Supper’ theme?” Byakuya ventured as he handed the evidence bag over.

“Let’s not go there,” Urahara shook his head and turned back to the monitor. “Refrigerated banquets are bad enough – if I have to start sorting through messiahs portrayed on pieces of toast, I’m tapping out.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” the detective monotoned, lacing his fingers together.

Kisuke sighed. “It’s just as well. As expected, there was no worthwhile trace to be had from this invitation. We grabbed a few of the rose petals from the chaise lounge, there, but beyond the fact that they were greenhouse grown, we haven’t gotten much.”

“Hmm. What breeds of rose have you identified?”

“Ah, let’s see…” Urahara opened a spreadsheet on a smaller monitor and squinted. “The purple ones are a mix of the ‘Angel Face’ variety, which usually aren’t quite that darkly colored, and ‘The Prince,’ a shrub rose. The white petals are from a miniature variety called ‘Near You,’ and the red, ‘Obsession.’”

The blond stopped talking, sandy eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “Makes you want to scrub down in a scalding shower, repeatedly.”

“Quite.” Byakuya exhaled.

“In that spirit,” Kisuke spared him a sidelong glance, “I’m guessing you don’t need a close up of the goodies on the chair?”

“You are correct.”

“Fine by me. Best I could tell, it looked like they raided an upscale bondage boutique on the way to the party.” Urahara judged, hand hovering over the computer mouse. “Probably.”

After issuing a mental threat to keep his right eyebrow from twitching, Byakuya moved his chair a little closer to the screen as Kisuke maximized an image of a different place setting. His eyes widened despite himself.

“Do you believe in coincidences, Urahara-sensei?”

The aforementioned medical examiner turned to look at him. “Sometimes. Though if there’s a better explanation, chalking things up to coincidence can be shortsighted.”

“I concur,” Byakuya inclined his head. “As with Occam’s razor, the simplest explanation is often the most reasonable hypothesis.” He paused. “The individual who executed this scene knows us very well.”

“Based on…?”

“Of the fourteen envelopes on the table, you selected the only one that was not empty.”

“I did?” Urahara appeared genuinely surprised for a moment. “Guess I should go gamble today.”

Byakuya shook his hair back with a quick, annoyed flick. “How much of a coincidence would it be for you to randomly select the only filled invitation after having just enough time to arrive and photograph the scene?”

“The timing of that was pretty suspect,” the blond tapped his stubbly chin with his index finger. “Like the perpetrator wanted us to have a few minutes with the scene before NSA arrived, and didn’t want them to find anything that we didn’t?”

“One could argue that they knew you well enough to predict which invitation you would take,” the detective ventured, “and that you would consult me for assistance in processing the crime scene.”

“And that you’d be able to parse out the details I couldn’t without the actual evidence in hand,” Kisuke whistled low between his teeth. “This may sound paranoid, but it’s like they’re telling us that they know that we know what they’re up to.”

“Just because one is paranoid,” Byakuya said in a low, flat tone, “does not mean that no one is out to get you, as my lieutenant would say.”

“Amen to that.” Urahara scratched his chin. “So, if we run with the paranoia theme, they probably had real-time surveillance on sight to orchestrate everything just so. They have some idea of what you’re capable of…or were using this stunt to feel out what you can do.”

“Even while I lay in a coma. Optimistic,” Byakuya frowned.

“Optimistic, lucky, or astonishingly well prepared,” Kisuke’s routine ebullience was nowhere in sight. “Part of me wants to believe this is a warning, which’d be less irritating than getting jerked around like marionettes on strings.”

“Those notions are not mutually exclusive,” the Kuchiki decided, his intuition indicating that the truth lay somewhere between the extremes. “Shall we work on the rest of the invitations?”

“I thought you said they were empty.”

“They are,” Byakuya agreed. “However, that does not mean that the perpetrator had no intentions of what to do with the remainder of the envelopes.”

Kisuke peered at him with a half-impressed, half-startled expression. “You know what was going to be put into them?”

“The person behind this had the materials in hand and decided, after some deliberation, not to place any further tangible information within easy reach of investigators.” Byakuya pursed his lips, obliging the other’s silent curiosity. “The clearer or more purposeful the intent, or the more specific the information sought, the easier it is for me to identify it.”

“Otherwise it’s like having a million television stations pumped into your brain at full volume, round the clock,” Urahara smiled at the surprise that flitted over the aristocrat’s face. “You either learn to block the white noise out or you go crazy.”

Byakuya opened his mouth, closed it, and tried speaking again. “This is…typical for TK-509?”

“There’s no such thing as typical,” Kisuke pushed away from the desk and turned to face the detective. “The few who manifested abilities didn’t revert to their previous state when the drug was withdrawn. How they coped with it, and how powerful their abilities were, both before and after, varied quite a bit.”

After taking a minute to digest the information, Byakuya came to a conclusion. “They were all eventually institutionalized.”

Urahara looked at him through his lashes. “Yeah.”

“All in the same state-run facility.”

“Oddly enough, yeah.” A strand of hair fell into Kisuke’s eyes. “You’ve heard of the Maggot’s Nest?”

“Yes.” Something tickled the back of his brain, but Byakuya elected to think about it later. “Remind me to be careful during my psychological evaluation.”

Urahara chuckled. “Sure. Remind me not to play poker with you.” He pursed his lips. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Byakuya tried not to appear too relieved as Urahara reached behind the computer to plug in an electric kettle.  The blond tugged a computer drawer open. “Any preferences?”

“Untampered.”

“And they say you have no sense of humor,” Urahara chuckled and selected a green and white-striped tin.

“They would be right. The chrysanthemum2 represents the office of the Superintendent General?” The Kuchiki changed the subject in the course of a breath as he inspected first the magnificent white bloom filling the screen, then the crazed, porcelain tea set that Urahara stood to retrieve from a shelf overhead.

“That pattern seems to fit for the twelve place settings that aren’t violently red,” the blond confirmed as he cleared space for the tea tray near his keyboard. “The flowers are those that represent the person’s division within the force, or their families.” He wiped a dust speck out of one of the small cups. “So, what did they have in store for the old man himself?”

“‘Shigekuni Genryῡsai Yamamoto-keishi-soukan,’” Byakuya recited as he inspected each stroke of the characters on the magnified envelope onscreen. “Cronus, a Titan, father of the Olympians.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kisuke unplugged the kettle as it began to whistle and spout a plume of scalding steam. “Though not especially snarky.”

“I beg to differ. Cronus was overthrown by his son, Zeus, an event he had sought to forestall by eating his own children alive.”

“Yummy.” Urahara rinsed the tea leaves, discarding the water before pouring more to let the leaves steep properly. “I can pretty much guess what the next will be.”

Byakuya leaned forward to advance to the next slide in the photo collection. “Indeed. Kyouraku-keishi-chō and Dionysus have much in common.”

“Right down to the beard, if I’m remembering correctly. Wine and orgies for all.” After a minute elapsed, Urahara poured the tea and handed a cup over to the homicide detective. Curling his long fingers around his own drink, he settled back into his seat and inhaled the steam that wafted up from the bright green brew. “And what of Ukitake-san?”

Fine brows cinching together, Byakuya frowned at the newest envelope on display. The first pangs of a headache bloomed behind his eyes. “Laocoön.”

Kisuke cast a glance his way, taking note of the flat, strained quality of his voice. “The guy in ‘The Iliad’ that tried to warn the city of Troy about the horse?”

“A Trojan priest of Poseidon,” the detective affirmed, “whose efforts at exposing the Greeks’ trickery resulted in his and his sons’ deaths by sea serpents.”

“Which deity did he piss off?” Urahara sniffed his tea.

“That would depend on the source one references,” Byakuya cradled his teacup in both hands, attention wholly on the computer display.

Urahara Kisuke wordlessly brought up the next place setting and the envelope centered on the china therein. The Kuchiki sipped his tea while Kisuke scratched his stubbly chin.

“Zaraki Kenpachi,” the blond murmured after a moment’s repose. “Let me guess: Ares, the god of war?”

The silent Byakuya inclined his head.

“Nice to know not all of them require much imagination,” Urahara advanced the slides with a tuneless whistle. “Now on to his lovely wife, Unohana-sensei. How ‘bout Athena?”

“I’m afraid not,” Byakuya rotated the cup in his hands by ninety degrees while blinking at the screen. “She was to receive a depiction of Hippolyta…who, if memory serves, was a daughter of Ares and queen of the Amazons.”

The men looked at each other for a moment before turning back to the screen and the next photograph without a word.

“Komamura-keibu,” Byakuya enunciated after another draught of tea, “…Cerberus.”

“The three-headed dog that guards the underworld? Oo-kay.” Kisuke swirled the remaining tea leaves in the bottom of his cup. He promptly brought up the next image. “Matsumoto-keibu-ho?”

“Aphrodite.”

“Hmm,” Urahara fanned himself with a nearby, crumpled magazine as he set aside his cup. He gestured with the journal at the screen and the next envelope depicted there. “I’m almost afraid to ask about Soi Fon.”

“That is probably wise,” said Byakuya under his breath. “Artemis.”

“Virgin goddess of the hunt, could be worse. What did they come up with for my better half?”

“Hecate,” the dark-haired pursed his lips as he inspected the calligraphy on the envelope addressed to Assistant District Attorney Shihōin. “Goddess of witchcraft, ghosts, and necromancy.”

“Guess it beats being a guard dog,” Kisuke declared with no small amount of diplomacy. He took a deep breath and refilled his teacup. “Seconds?”

“No, thank you,” Byakuya had decided against over-indulging in any beverage for the foreseeable future. “You were to be presented with a depiction of Prometheus.”

“Thief of fire and loser of liver? Ow.”

The Kuchiki heir rolled his eyes, “and credited with profound intelligence and the creation of mankind.”

“Still, cripes,” Kisuke clutched at his upper abdomen with a dramatic swoon. “What about my faithful sidekick?”

Byakuya held his tongue and peered at the ivory envelope addressed to Ishida-sensei, his eyes widening slightly despite himself. “Menelaus.”

Urahara fanned himself while scrutinizing the detective’s odd expression. “Another guy from the Iliad?”

“King of Sparta,” Byakuya hesitated. “Husband of Helen.”

Kisuke turned back to the monitor quickly, fanning as he went. “‘The face that launched a thousand ships,’ eh? Well, Orihime-chan’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Ishida-sensei’s wife?” Byakuya waited for Urahara’s affirmative nod. “The young lady employed in the forensic anthropology unit?”

“Right you are,” Urahara brought up the next envelope’s image. He turned to consider the inspector with a pensive expression. “One of the most talented facial reconstruction artists I’ve ever met.”

Byakuya eyed his empty teacup and contemplated the security – or lack thereof- of the forensic anthropology lab, and to what degree the cheerful Inoue-san was aware of the recent events at department headquarters.

_Not that such a thing is relevant now. If Aizen is interested in her, we will need to take steps regardless of her involvement up until this point._

“Lucky for me the ‘bones bureau’ is a subsidiary of my office, meaning I have final say over their schedules, added security, all of that fun stuff,” Kisuke chimed in with a wide smile.

“I see we understand each other,” Byakuya offered, doing his best to not look unnerved.

“So well it’s almost spooky,” the blond agreed, hiding the lower half of his face with his makeshift fan. “Shall we tackle the main attraction?”

The homicide detective looked back to the oversized screen and the envelope and the kanji of ‘Kurosaki Ichigo’ inscribed on the high-quality paper.

“Icarus,” Byakuya pronounced after a moment.

Kisuke sighed and set his fan aside. “Broke out of jail with his dad, but got carried away and flew too near the sun…which melted the wax holding his manmade wings together, and he drowned.”

“However,” the aristocratic inspector went on as he set his cup on the tray, “the individual compiling these assignments nearly went with Adonis instead - an ever-youthful demigod of beauty and vegetation, revered in his reborn state.”

“Hmm,” Urarhara fixed his keen eyes on the screen, his fingers smoothing out the folds of his discarded fan. “And what about yours?”

“There was no intention of sealing anything within my envelope.”

“Really?” Kisuke turned to look at him. “A truly ‘blank’ blank?”

Byakuya inclined his head without comment, ignoring the blond’s sudden scrutiny.

_No serious intentions, anyway,_ Byakuya admitted to himself, at least, narrowly avoiding crinkling his nose in disgust.  He considered the vague impressions he had gleaned from seeing the envelope bearing his name.

_Cassandra:  fated to accurately prophesy the future, but never to be believed._

_Ganymede: a handsome youth abducted by Zeus to serve as his companion and cupbearer for the gods._    

_I cannot believe this represents a rare moment of discretion by the perpetrator, however grateful I might be for that small respite. More likely is that they will choose another modality to make their statement…_

“Are you all right, Bya-chan?”

Though his choice of words was as unfortunate as ever, Urahara Kisuke was gazing at him with what appeared to be genuine concern.

“Why, yes, Urahara- _sensei_ ,” Byakuya emphasized the honorific to remind the other that respectful address was very much possible, “I am simply waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Roger that.” Kisuke frowned. “Akon’ll probably be down any minute with the contents of your grab bag. “ He paused. “What do you think of the centerpiece?”

Rubbing his eyelids with forefinger and thumb, Byakuya exhaled as he lifted his chin to survey the scattered sprays of pale pink cherry blossoms that surrounded a small, plastic compact-disc player. He narrowed his eyes at the player and its familiar cornflower blue and chrome exterior.

“That device,” he fought the urge to point at the screen in accusation, “was removed from the tenement crime scene.”

“You sure?”

“Pull up the crime scene photographs.” Byakuya leaned forward, silently urging the blond to work faster as the banquet images were minimized.

Mere moments later, a cramped bedroom containing little beyond four bloodied corpses and a bare mattress came into view on the monitor; the captain took one look at the brown and orange carpet and nodded to himself.

“Zoom in on the carpet, to the right of the bed.”

“You got it,” Urahara obliged and maximized the area of interest, enlarging the photo until a subtle, circular indentation in the shag became visible. “I’ll be damned. This really was all orchestrated from the start.”

_As usual, our adversaries have a considerable head start…months, maybe even years,_ Byakuya mused with a grim set to his mouth. _Are all of these bizarre hints and clues merely a boast along those lines? If not, is there any meaningful chance of using this information to counter Aizen’s plotting and save lives in the process?_

“Was there anything in the player?” Byakuya queried after both men had glared at the screen in disgruntled silence for several minutes.

“Nope,” Urahara continued to frown at the ugly carpet taking up his monitor, though his visage righted itself as a sharp knock sounded on his door. “Enter the mancave, if you dare!”

_Where he summons the energy from, I will never know,_ Byakuya marveled as the medical examiner put on a bright smile and began to fan himself in earnest as a labcoat-clad Akon stepped into the office. _Perhaps my decision to minimize my caffeine consumption was shortsighted._

“What news, young scientist?” Kisuke chirped as he inspected the subdued technician, his piercings, and the colorful package in his arms.

“More creepy crap, I’m sorry to say,” Akon set the gold mylar-encased box on the desk and stepped back, as if glad to be rid of it. “No explosives, poisons, or biochemical badness, at least.”

Urahara pulled on a pair of purple nitrile gloves while Akon shed his and deposited them in the wastebin. The blond peered into the box and clucked his tongue. “Well, well, we seem to have found our missing CD after all. What’s on it?”

“Just a single audio file. No viruses, encrypted data, or anything exciting, I’m sorry to say,” Akon exhaled and patted his chest pocket, fingers trailing over the pack of cigarettes with longing.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Kisuke playfully admonished as he opened the disk drive of the console under the desk.

“Sorry sirs,” the young, spiky-haired technician bowed in Byakuya’s direction.

“Don’t be,” Byakuya  murmured, magnanimous. “Sorting through the mail must seem anticlimactic at this point in time.”

“Yes and no,” Akon straightened and smoothed the collar of his starched lab coat. “I’m tempted to never complain about busywork again, to be frank.”

_I know the feeling,_ Byakuya concurred as strains of a Big Band orchestra rang out from the medical examiner’s computed speakers.

_“We’ll...meet again…don’t know where…don’t know when…”_

“Ick,” Kisuke paled a bit and paused the recording. “I’ve heard enough, I think.”

Byakuya agreed without reservation and stood to peer into the box, noting an object loosely swathed in tissue paper in the bottom. “What other items have you removed?”

“There’s a body part over in the morgue,” Akon admitted, scratching behind his forehead horn implant. He grimaced before continuing. “An amputated pinky finger with a red string3 tied around it.”

“You’ve identified it?” The homicide detective prompted, tone and expression neutral.

“Yeah, it…er, _he_ was already in the database.” The lanky Akon absently patted his cigarettes again. “Asano Itsu, the coffee house poisoner.”

_Asano-san is already dead_ , Byakuya realized as he met Urahara’s gaze. _Another suspicious death in custody._

Kisuke seemed to understand the implication of Byakuya’s weighty stare as he nodded, considering, and turned to the technician standing over them. “I think we’ve got it from here. I’ll be back in the deep freeze in a few minutes, okay?”

“Works for me,” Akon bowed again and spun on his heel, wasting no time in evacuating the premises.

The door shut, and Byakuya allowed himself a sigh.

“Yikes,” Urahara shook his tousled blond head as he closed the browsers on his computer, the images fading to the abstract, fractal pattern of his desktop. “Who needs the death penalty when the Department of Corrections can’t seem to keep anybody in a holding cell alive anymore?” 

“Indeed,” Byakuya’s rich baritone was subdued and soft as he, too, pulled on a pair of gloves from the overflowing box on Kisuke’s desk.

“Why do I get the feeling this last tidbit isn’t going to make me feel better?” Urahara scrolled through his iTunes library, glancing over intermittently to watch the detective’s progress in emptying the box.

“Because you are wiser than you look,” Byakuya said to himself as he pulled the last layer of gold-flecked tissue paper away and turned a small, cast-bronze figure in his hands.

Urahara stopped and stared before scooting forward for a closer inspection, eyes roving over the naked, winged cherub with curiosity. “Somebody sent you a statue of Cupid?”

“Not exactly,” the Kuchiki corrected, having recognized the statue in an instant. “The former Aizen-keibu used this very figurine as a paperweight. The reversed torch,” Byakuya indicated the long, narrow bundle in the cherub’s left hand, “and his crossed legs suggest that this is not Cupid but the twin brother of Hypnos, the god of sleep.”

Kisuke’s attention shifted from the bronze cherub to the detective holding the statue.

“Eros Thanatos, the personification of death.”

Byakuya set the statue back within the box and turned away. “I believe that concludes our business here.”

“Yeah.”

He was grateful for the lack of small talk and speculation, Byakuya realized as the removed the nitrile gloves and discarded them on the way to the door. His mind was weary yet abuzz with information, and the subterranean space was suddenly too confining for his liking. He was nearly out of the office when another piece of music issued forth from Kisuke’s workstation, the guitar riffs stopping him in his tracks.

Byakuya turned. “Psycho Killer?”

Urahara shrugged with a thin smile. “It seemed appropriate. I didn’t know you were a Talking Heads4 fan.”

“Mmh.” Byakuya gave a slight, stiff bow and slipped out the door.

Wishing to be alone and adrift without an office, the sophisticated Kuchiki glided down the gleaming, tiled hall before suddenly veering to the left and into a seldom-used bathroom.  He locked the door turned to lean against it as he released a heavy sigh.

_Subliminal or not_ , he looked up at the thick wooden door separating him from the rest of the building’s occupants, _I believe Urahara-sensei’s impression to be correct; this is the opening salvo in yet another skirmish we are woefully unprepared for._

Loosening his tie and trying again for a deep, cleansing breath, Byakuya pushed away from the outer door and moved into one of the stalls, shutting another door behind him. Cool beads of perspiration formed on his brow and upper lip as he stared at his reflection in the toilet bowl.

_Urahara-sensei is a clever, resourceful man with many contacts outside of the Department, who need not operate under the same constraints…_ He frowned and tried to decide whether or not to spit, electing to swallow against his burgeoning nausea instead. Inoue Orihime and Kurosaki Ichigo’s appallingly young, sunny likenesses appeared in his mind’s eye… _.though lack of constraints could pose particular challenges in keeping those two out of harm’s way. And I do not pretend to think for a second that Rukia and Renji will not become hopelessly entangled in this mess._

His frown deepened as his stomach churned again. He crossed his arms to glare at the commode. _At some point, my intuition will become a liability; at the very least it will make it seem like I know too much to not be complicit in these crimes…which could render my position and many of my closed cases suspect. At worst, if it is something that Aizen Sosuke can turn to his advantage, I could unwittingly be a means of him achieving his ends. Will I be able to discern how to proceed…how to keep my loved ones alive_ and _thwart the growing evil of Aizen’s schemes…without completely losing control of my faculties?_

As he started to salivate more, Byakuya let out an annoyed huff and retrieved a black hair tie from his pocket. He secured his hair back in a ponytail and inspected his reflection –particularly the dark circles under his eyes-  with disapproval, contemplating inducing vomiting to get it over with.

_Meanwhile I skulk about in a restroom like a neurotic preteen. What are the chances that I will actually be able to pass my psychological evaluation in this state?_

The back pocket of his tailored slacks vibrated at that moment, alerting him to an incoming text. Byakuya retrieved his phone and his glare faltered as he read the message.

_Renji: Permission to wine and dine you tonight, sir?_

The dark, stifling emotion clutching at his gut subsided slightly and he took a long, deliberate breath in through his nose. Byakuya exhaled on a sigh as his thumbs moved of their own accord.

_Byakuya: Granted._

Before he could pocket his mobile, the device buzzed again. He felt his lips twitch into a wry near-smile as he glanced at the display.

_Renji: Sweet. Meet me at 6 in Violent Crimes…unless you’d prefer a little hide and seek._

Byakuya stowed his phone and gripped the side of the stall, resting his clammy forehead there while his stomach churned indecisively.

“Oh, Renji,” he murmured as his eyes closed and a new sheen of sweat sprang up on his face, his stomach giving another fitful lurch despite the happy news. The Kuchiki heir cracked his eyes open wide enough to see two toilets beneath him, and he blinked several times to try to banish the double vision completely, without success.

_I’ve had quite enough of this,_ Byakuya decided, his resolution not to vomit firmer than ever. _Convalescing or not, it will take more than ghastly, suggestive displays to make me lose my composure._

Straightening to his full height and lifting his chin, he gave his washed-out, watery reflection an imperious stare and resolved not to budge until both his nervous and digestive systems were brought to heel.  

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pertaining to a Johnny Carson character, not an ancient Egyptian city/temple complex.
> 
> 2\. This isn’t original, I’m afraid, but refers to the canonical flowers representing each division, as outlined in Color Bleach.
> 
> 3\. According to Japanese legend [if Wikipedia is to be believed], this refers to the ‘red string of fate,’ tied by the gods around the pinky fingers of those destined to meet under a certain set of circumstances, to be of particular help, or to be lovers.
> 
> 4\. Reference to Chapter Nine, where Byakuya notes that Urahara usually listens to Talking Heads or Steely Dan when things are not going well.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must say,” Uryuu continued, pushing up his glasses as he eyed his next client, “I am continually impressed with the types that drop in on the Homicide division.”

_Compression, Chapter Thirty-Two_

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“So, what’re you in the mood for?”

Renji slid the designer sunglasses back to the top of his head as the last daylight had waned an hour prior. He took note of the cars and vans swarming the busy boulevard in front of headquarters, their progress made in fits and starts during the rush hour traffic.

 “I am not particular.” Byakuya swept past him and started making his way down the stairs, nimbly avoiding the many puddles and scattered piles of rock salt.

“Since when?”

The Kuchiki cast a glance over his shoulder. “About dinner.”

“Oh, right.” Satisfied, Renji zipped up his biker jacket and took the stairs two at a time to catch up with his captain. The shorter, slighter man was still watching him with a pinched expression.

“Not that you’re really persnickety or anything - ”

“Backpedaling shall do you no good,” Byakuya cut him off with an affronted sniff. He pulled his silk scarf practically up to his chin as he glared at his adjutant. “I am simply less interested in the type of cuisine than the company I will be keeping.”

“Oh.” Renji watched their feet as they descended the stairs together, boots and Italian leather loafers in perfect synchrony as his brain whirred. “That was a compliment, right?”

“Not an effective one, if it required explanation.”

“Nah, don’t be so sure,” the redhead lifted his arm to wrap it around the other’s shoulders, but stopped himself just in time. “It’s just that time of day where my stomach kinda commandeers all a’my energy, makes it hard to pick up on subtleties, you know?”

“No, not really,” Byakuya admitted as they neared the sidewalk. “That is why I defer to your preferences in this matter, however.”

“Hmm,” Renji slowed as they reached street level, liking the idea of such ‘deference’ more than he cared to admit. “There’s a great sushi joint on the upper West side. Total hole in the wall, but the food is amazing.”

“Very well.”

Renji stepped forward to hail a cab but paused when a gloved hand alighted on his shoulder.

“Let’s take the Metro,” Byakuya suggested before turning away, heading towards the station a mere two blocks north.

“Seriously?” Renji stared at the now-empty expanse of leather where his lover’s hand had been, feeling slightly off balance. “You really feel like slummin’ it?”

“Public transit is perfectly acceptable,” the Kuchiki countered when Renji forced himself into motion and caught up with bounding strides. “Do I need further justification for wanting to take the subway?”

“During rush hour? Maybe,” the lieutenant shook his head a little. “I figured, with an armada of lackeys and antique sports cars, you wouldn’t need to rub shoulders with the unwashed masses.”

Byakuya closed his eyes. “Thank you, Abarai, for making me sound even more elitist and antisocial than I already feel.”

“My pleasure, Captain,” Renji grinned and, casting a quick look behind him, pulled his superior into an awkward, one-armed hug. Meeting with no resistance, he let his hand slip down and slide around Byakuya’s waist. “I could get used to this.”

“You’ll soon have competition,” Byakuya joked, though his face fell at the impending lack of personal space promised by the bustling Metro station.

“Fear not, my liege,” pronounced Renji in his best formal accent, “I shall defend thine virtue.”

The blue blood snorted in amusement, and Renji tightened his hold.

“Still, if you’re not in the mood for crowds,” the tattooed man wondered aloud, “why’re we takin’ the train, again?”

“I have a feeling that we ought to,” Byakuya said simply.

“Oh. Well, then.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“No, it’s um…it’s just different, ya know, actually talking about this stuff _before_ shit does down,” Renji stammered, his ears reddening in the chill.

“I see,” commented the expressionless Byakuya.

“Trust me, it’s a good thing,” Renji couldn’t help but feel like he was backpedaling again. He patted Byakuya’s shoulder before letting go. “Just because I’m an idiot doesn’t mean you’re doin’ somethin’ wrong.”

“I see,” Byakuya repeated, though he sounded far from convinced.

“How about you just ignore me until we’ve eaten, deal?”

“Where would the fun in that be?” Byakuya regarded him with a devious sparkle in his eye as they stepped into the station.   

The entryway smelled vaguely of mud and cigarettes though, like most Metro stations, it was clean and well-kept by international standards. Renji scanned the large, multicolored map that filled the wall across from the automated ticket vendors, confirming the line and the transfer needed to transport them to culinary bliss.

“Abarai. The North platform.”

“Eh? But we’re headin’ – ”

“I know. However, we need to go to the North platform now.”

Byakuya hadn’t raised his voice, but the urgency in his request was unmistakable. Renji simply nodded and turned to follow him while trying not to think about it too much.

_He’s really trying to keep me in the loop. The least I can do is stop bumbling around in shock…no matter how shocked I actually am that he’s taking me seriously._

He didn’t miss the sharp look Byakuya shot back at him as he delved into the crowd of suit-clad business types and uniformed high-schoolers that had spilled out into the corridor. While Renji expected the shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic, the undercurrent of curiosity and agitation in the people they passed seemed incongruous and unusually tense, even at the height of rush hour. The whispers and hisses he overheard were equally disturbing.

“What happened?”

“Did you see?”

“What’s the hold up?”

“Did he really do it?”

“Sorry, sir, this platform is closed,” a uniformed attendant said to Byakuya as he maneuvered to the front of the crowd.

“I can see that,” a humorless Kuchiki barely spared the petite, young lady a glance as inspected the scene. “What happened?”

Renji caught up right in time and hastily flashed his badge over the captain’s shoulder. The uniformed woman, barely in her twenties’ by his estimation, stared at the two of them with wide eyes for a moment.

The attendant’s relief was palpable and her panic subsided.  She nodded at a similarly-attired man to her right, also struggling to hold back the crowd. “Oh, thank goodness. We have our own security but I was hoping you’d get here soon. There’s been an accident…”

“That was no accident, lady.”

The detectives turned as one as a lanky youth sporting a tall, fuchsia Mohawk and a multitude of piercings crossed him arms and went on. “Dude jumped in front of the train as it came in. I think the tracks fried him before the train got to him, though.”

“Hmm.” Byakuya swept forward with an air of authority that kept anyone in the crowd from following him, Renji noted with no small amount of admiration.

After a quiet moment spent staring his superior, Renji took his cue and stepped up to fill the captain’s space, turning and scanning the unlucky masses waiting for the train. “All right, anybody else see anything?”

Hands shot up, and the sheer number was enough to make Renji sigh and mutter to himself.

With a dejected rumble from his stomach, Renji pulled the witnesses off to the side and borrowed a scrap of paper from one of them, preparing to take statements without making the mob situation any worse. Byakuya was pacing along the edge of the platform as he talked on his cellphone, and their eyes met. The Kuchiki ended the call and inclined his head with a grim set to his jaw.

_Yet another date off to a great start._

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

“Believe it or not, all the witnesses confirm what sounds like a suicide,” Renji turned his crumpled paper in a few different directions, squinting and hoping that his handwriting would be more legible in the light of day.

“The security footage seems to indicate as much,” Byakuya murmured as they ambled down a sparsely-peopled hallway in the subway, his eyes trailing along the pearlescent tiles of the barrel-vaulted ceiling overhead.

“Still, not the most subtle way to exit the world,” the redhead sighed and pocketed his notes as his stomach growled loudly. “We’re so taking a cab.”

“Mmh,” was the Kuchiki’s wordless assent as he came to a halt.

“What’s up?” Renji slowed as he realized he was talking to himself. He trotted back to where the captain had stopped in the middle of the hall, attention directed upwards.

“The ventilation system. Where would the closest access hatch be?”

“Um, it might be on the map back in the main section,” Renji directed a thumb behind him and turned to lead the way. “Hard to tell just by looking, what with all the reroutes and renovations over the years. What, there’s more weirdness in store for us?”

“Perhaps. A suicide…was not what I was expecting,” Byakuya trailed off though he walked with purpose back to one of the busier corridors in the Metro station.

“Any chance your spidey sense could be wrong?”

“Of course,” the Kuchiki glanced at him, but did not slow his steps.

“Not likely though, is it?” Renji frowned at the tense set of Byakuya’s shoulders and cracked his own neck to relieve the tension there.

“We will see.”

“First round’s on me,” the redhead decided and took a chance, letting his hand settle in the small of the other man’s back while there was no one else around.

“Don’t be silly. The first two will be my treat, as this subway debacle was my idea,” Byakuya countered coolly even while he relaxed under his lieutenant’s touch.  

“Whatever. You’ll be full after the first set,” Renji chuckled and smoothed his collar back under the lapel of his jacket. “Wait, are we talkin’ bout sushi or sake?”

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe not. I’m probably more hungry than thirsty, though,” Renji concluded as the main thoroughfare came into view. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why are we looking for the access point, again?”

“I expect that will be obvious when we find it.”

“Oh.” The redheaded lieutenant coughed loudly to cover the sounds emanating out of his gut.  “Can I have a hint…?”

“If I knew, Abarai, I would tell you,” Byakuya replied with thinly veiled impatience.

Renji glanced at his watch and over at the Kuchiki, whose pale skin had taken on a sickly hue beneath the flickering fluorescent lights of the station.

“Is there a problem?”

“You do realize,” Renji began, cringing as the words came out of his mouth, “that you’re not supposed to be workin’ any cases yet, right?”

“I am well aware.” Byakuya’s eyelids drooped with disapproval even as he neared a wall map illustrating the Metro station and scanned the diagram. He added under his breath, “However, it wouldn’t do to leave a body to be discovered by smell alone.”

“There’s another body?” The assistant captain parroted despite himself, tattooed brows twitching.

Byakuya blinked and looked his way. “Excuse me?”

“You just said there’s another body for us to find?” Renji scratched at his eyebrow with his thumbnail. “At least, I think you did.”

“Ah.” The Kuchiki’s composure was reclaimed in an instant, and he turned away from the map in one smooth sweep. “So I did.”

“Right.”

Renji paused, eyes on the map and teeth worrying his tongue.

_It’s not like I mind trotting behind him like a lost mutt, but…_

The redhead sighed and turned to follow Byakuya towards the platform cordoned-off for the suspected suicide. Maneuvering between a support pillar and a trash can, he ducked under the bright yellow ‘police line’ tape.

_…every now and again, I gotta wonder where his head’s at..._

_…and what the hell is actually goin’ on._

Commuters had abandoned the space, but the platform now swarmed with crime scene investigators and was littered with equipment from the medical examiner’s office. The homicide detectives wove amidst their colleagues, receiving a few, cursory greetings and a smattering of curious looks as they went. Byakuya came to a stop along a wall of advertisements, a large opera poster sporting shades of emerald, violet and gold framing his profile as he inspected the steel grating overhead.

“If you would be so kind, Lieutenant?”

“Um. Oh, sure!” Banishing his ruminations for the time being, Renji flashed a bright smile as he pilfered a pair of gloves from a technician walking by and snapped the purple nitrile on as he looked for the access hatch. “I love being tall sometimes.”

“I do not doubt it,” Byakuya crossed his arms, eyeing his subordinate expectantly.

Renji grinned and shrugged. His gaze lingered over the crowd before settling on his prize; he then took off at a jog to the police line to retrieve a ring of keys from a maintenance supervisor, a portly man with a walkie-talkie and various tools affixed to his belt.  Nodding his thanks, Renji rejoined his superior and set about unlocking the door to the access point and lowering the ladder built into the hatch. “So, does this count as overtime?” He wondered as he coaxed the squeaky lever into rotating to the left.

“I wouldn’t know, as I am not officially here.”

“Sounds like a good way to dodge paperwork,” Renji mused, struggling to swing the door downward on its hinges. He planted his feet shoulder width apart and twisted at the waist for better leverage.

“Do not get any ideas,” Byakuya stepped forward to peer up into the ventilation system as the door finally opened for them. 

“Aw, I – aack!”

Renji jumped back and practically flattened Byakuya into the wall as the ladder fell down with a rusty creak and a naked corpse followed. The body tumbled out of the entryway and stopped with a sudden jerk, a shiny red rope around the dead man’s neck arresting its progress mere inches above the floor. Renji cursed and squinted at the festive scarlet bow tied around the hangman’s noose, then at the pale, mottled toes skimming the tiles of the platform.

“Holy fucking hell,” the redhead hissed as the forensics team and uniformed officers around him came to a halt and stared.

“Ahem.”

 A throat cleared behind him, and Renji pulled himself together and stepped forward with a purposeful stride. “Right. Sorry, Captain.”

Byakuya said nothing but eased off the wall, looking none the worse for having been pinned between the opera poster and his muscular vice-captain. He pulled his coat around him as he approached the suspended body that continued to sway like a pendulum, pursing his lips as he inspected the dead man’s hands.

“Ah,” the Kuchiki heir murmured, “that will be Itsu-san.”

“Eh?” Renji stopped to peer over the shorter man’s shoulder and followed his gaze to the corpse’s left hand, which was missing a pinky finger.

“Is it Valentine’s Day already?”

Renji turned to see Ishida Uryuu watching them, the assistant medical examiner having paused in his efforts at pushing a body bag-laden gurney along the subway platform.

“I must say,” Uryuu continued, pushing up his glasses as he eyed his next client, “I am continually impressed with the types that _drop in_ on the Homicide division.”

“Oi,” Renji winced momentarily, though he countered soon enough, “We can’t help the low lives that _hang_ around these parts.”

Renji paced around the body, craning his neck upwards to see where the far end of the red rope was affixed. Having spotted the appropriate support beam far above them in the service shaft above the ceiling, he glanced over his shoulder at his captain. “Speaking of Valentine’s, though…any chance that gift shop is still open?”

“You want to spoil your appetite with cheap truffles.” Byakuya skipped the necessary inflection to render the statement a question, an aura of resignation settling over him.

“Well, when you put it like that…” the redhead sighed. He circled the suspended corpse once again, coming to the unsatisfactory conclusion that he would be unable to climb up into the ventilation access point and survey it properly until the body was taken down. “All I’m sayin’ is, by the time we work the scene properly, the sushi shop’ll be closed and I’ll have eaten my arm just to get by.”

“That won’t do,” Uryuu grinned, an effect that Renji found unsettling. “More missing body parts just means more work for me. Give me a minute and I’ll get you a snack from the van.”

Renji was about to thank the pathologist, then considered the provenance of said snacks more carefully. “You mean you actually eat that stuff that Urahara whips up? Is that even safe?” He called out to the retreating form of Ishida-sensei.

“‘Safe’ is a relative term,” Ishida chuckled as he pushed the gurney down the hall and around the corner as he made his way outside.

The tattooed man watched him go and shuddered. “Maybe my arm won’t be so bad.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Byakuya arched an eyebrow at him without looking away from the victim. “We’ll have exhausted the department’s worker’s compensation reserves before the first quarter is out.”

“Better that than bein’ poisoned, though.”  Renji began to ‘walk the grid’ in a clockwise fashion away from the dead man while trying to peer over the Kuchiki’s shoulder. “Though if it were tasty, chocolate poison…”

Byakuya turned at shot him an, _Are you out of your mind, Abarai?_ glare as his stomach rumbled loudly for emphasis.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be helped,” Renji stopped and clutched his midsection for dramatic effect. “Speaking of being unreasonable, I get all the grid-walking fun to myself, because…?”

“You need the experience,” Byakuya countered without missing a beat, “and –”

“And you’re not officially here, I get it.” Renji rolled his eyes and grinned, though he did not actually mind the arrangement in the slightest. “Never thought we’d have to be so sneaky to work a case together again.”

“Your idea of subterfuge continues to astound me,” deadpanned Byakuya, his voice was light in amusement. He gave the forensics officers that worked around them a sweeping glance as if to prove his point.

Renji stopped to lean on a tiled pilaster to remove a candy wrapper from the heel of his boot. “Well, until you stop stumbling onto bodies left and right, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.”

He looked up to shoot his lover a silly grin, only to find Byakuya wearing a blank, stony look, posture rigid.

“Maybe I’ll just eat my foot instead, as it’s already in my mouth,” Renji frowned at the pastel-covered foil in his hand and tried not to salivate at the thought of the chocolate it once held. He crammed it into an evidence bag for good measure.

“Be careful, Abarai, or you will lose your height advantage,” Seemingly recovered, Byakuya swept his hair over his shoulder as he bent to peer more closely at the dead man’s wounded hand. “Then where will you be?”

_As close as possible,_ Renji wished hopefully as he stared openly at his superior officer’s backside with longing. His appetite roared to life again, though he doubted that dinner or a snack would be enough to satisfy him.

“Point taken, sir,” he managed to mumble instead, and Renji shook his head to try to regain the focus needed to clear the scene. He spun around and forced his body into motion, though his imagination remained entangled with the slender man guarding the corpse to the rear.

* * *

**:*:*:**

* * *

 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this chapter isn’t my finest, but having sat gathering dust for a year, I decided that it was better to publish an imperfect chapter than to leave it indefinitely. [Though editing a chapter that laid fallow for that long was an interesting experience, I must say]. I can’t promise that I will post on a regular basis, but I do plan to finish this story, and, just maybe, get on with the sequel. Many thanks to those that continued to read, follow and/or review, and kept poking at me until I showed signs of life.


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